


TITANIC HiJack

by Kingpin



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies), Rise of the Guardians (2012), Titanic (1997)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Titanic Fusion, Illustrated, M/M, Nudity, RMS Titanic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 15:16:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 37,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4226772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kingpin/pseuds/Kingpin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hamish is a young upper-class man suffocating under the thumb of his father. Jack is the free-spirited artist who opens Hamish's eyes and steals his heart. When the ship collides with an iceberg in the frigid North Atlantic, the young lovers' journey is transformed into a breathtaking race for survival.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A fun exercise in fiction after spending a bit too much time musing on the concept of Hiccup and Jack in the lead roles of 1997's blockbuster hit.
> 
> The temptation was there to make the story more historically accurate... however at the time that would involve a considerable amount of research that I didn't have the time at the time of writing to conduct.
> 
> The final product is a mixture of my own ideas, those of James Cameron and those developed by justbstrong from DeviantArt.

**  
  
Prologue  
New York, 1997.**

A lazy afternoon sun bathed the metropolis in golden light, casting long shadows and catching dust particles as they drifted past the window glass. The apartment was painted in warm tones, which complimented the wooden furnishings and earth tones that populated the space.  
Hung on the walls and crowding almost every available flat surface were framed photographs, posters and other mementos from a long life lived; that of the apartment's resident.

He is an elderly man, nearing a century in age, with long silver hair swept back over his head, a matching pair of eyebrows and a short neat beard. At that particular moment the man's brows were furrowed in concentration, whilst youthful deep green eyes were focussed on the work that lay before him. Dressed in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, brown slacks and a rich emerald waistcoat the man was hunched over a desk cluttered with mechanical parts, intricate drawings and post-it notes; the inner workings of someone still active despite the march of time.

As he continued to tinker, a much younger woman aged in her mid-thirties, was busy preparing lunch for herself and the elderly man. Her face was friendly with empathetic blue eyes, and her long blond hair was untied, falling over the right side of her face. As she moved and set the table she did her best to avoid tripping over an eager black German Shepherd that insisted on being everywhere she was. In contrast to the older man's attire, she wore a simpler combination of denim jeans and a white T-shirt.

Almost lost in all of the activity was the sound from the television on the kitchen counter, which had moments ago switched to the day's international news:

 _“Treasure hunter Brock Lovett is best known for finding Spanish gold in sunken galleons in the Caribbean. Now he has chartered a Russian sub to reach the most famous shipwreck in the world, the_ Titanic. _He is with us live via satellite from the research ship_ Keldysh _in the North Atlantic. Hello, Brock!”_

 _“Hello Tracy!”_ Brock, a rugged man in his early forties with tussled brown hair greeted. _“Of course everyone knows the familiar stories of_ Titanic _, you know... the nobility of the band playing at the very end and all that. What I'm interested in are the untold stories, the secrets locked deep inside the hull of_ Titanic _... and we're out here using robot technology to go further into the wreck than anybody's ever done before.”_

The old man paused, and turned in his seat. With some effort, and the help of a nearby walking stick, he stood up from the chair and carefully approached the television for a closer look.

_“Your expedition is at the centre of a storm of controversy over salvage rights, and even ethics. Many are calling you a grave robber.”_

_“Well, nobody ever called the recovery of the artefacts-”_

“What is it?” the young woman asked the elderly man.

“Turn that up, dear.” the man asked, pointing toward the television.

 _“-I have museum trained experts out here making sure that these relics are preserved and catalogued properly. Take a look at this drawing that we found just today.”_ the camera view shifted from Brock to a yellowed sheet of paper, bathed in a tub of sea water for preservation. _“A piece of paper that's been under water for eighty-four years, and my team were able to preserve it intact!”_ he beamed.

The elderly man peered closer at the screen, holding up a pair of glasses hung around his neck on a cord for a clearer view. The feed lingered on the drawing, revealing it to be a classically-rendered sketch, depicting a tasteful nude of a young man reclined on a _chaise longue_.

_“Should this have remained unseen at the bottom of the ocean for eternity, when we can see it and enjoy it now?”_

“I'll be god damned!” the elderly man exclaimed, much to the surprise of the younger woman.


	2. Ship of Dreams

Lizzy Overland was hard pressed to remember the last time she'd seen her grandfather as animated as he had been upon seeing the drawing.  She helped ease him into one of the chairs at the dining table, before bringing him a cup of tea.  He sipped from the cup as she sat down opposite him, eager to know more.  Even Toothless, her grandfather's German Shepherd had been swept up in the wave of sudden excitement.  
  
“Are you okay, Papa?”  her face showing her concern.  
  
Her grandfather, Hamish Overland collected his thoughts for a moment before he finally spoke: “Yes... I just never imagined I'd ever see that drawing again.”  
  
“Did you see it on display when you were younger?”  Lizzy enquired.  
  
“No.”  Hamish shook his head, emitting a soft chuckle.  “That drawing was of me.”  
  
His granddaughter studied his face sceptically.  “You think that was you, Papa?”  
  
“It was me, dear!  Wasn't I a catch?”  He asked with a wry grin.  “On the wall behind me, there's a photo of me when I first went to Coney Island, I would've been around the same age as I was in the drawing.”  the monochrome photograph in question depicted a youth perched against the railing of the pier at Coney Island, the resemblance to the young man in the drawing was unmistakeable, as was the resemblance with Hamish.  Lizzy's gaze returned to her grandfather.  
  
“I didn't know you were on the _Titanic_.”  
  
“Neither did your father... For a long time I wanted to forget about what happened.”  Lizzy returned to her seat and took Hamish's hand, hearing the sadness creep into her grandfather's voice.  “I didn't talk about it for so long that eventually there didn't seem to be any reason to talk about it all... but, maybe this is his way of telling me it's time.”  
  
“Who?”  
  
Hamish smiled fondly, staring into space.  “My first love.”  Lizzy took the opportunity to bring their lunch across to the table, and set down Toothless' bowl, which the dog tucked into eagerly.  She also extracted a small tape recorder from her grandfather's desk and indicated it to him, which he nodded his consent to.  With a fresh tape in place she sat it down on the table and began recording.  
“For the record-”  he paused to clear his throat.  “-before arriving in America, my name was Hamish Haddock.  In 1912, I travelled as a passenger with my father on the R.M.S. _Titanic_... and during the maiden voyage I met a man who changed my life.”  He paused to mentally prepare himself.  “It's been eighty-four years, and I can still smell the fresh paint.  The china had never been used, the sheets had never been slept in.   _Titanic_ was called 'the ship of dreams', and it was... it _really_ was...”

 

* * *

**April 10th, 1912  
**

* * *

R.M.S. _Titanic_ towered over the White Star Line dock like a leviathan.  A black wall of iron and steel rose from the water, as if it had grown from the depths of the harbour.  Stacked atop the dark hull in contrast was a brilliant white superstructure, filled with windows and open-air promenade decks.  Increasing the ship's height were four buff-yellow funnels that were again topped in black like a set of smart, expensive hats.   _Titanic_ was the second of three planned super liners, and was the largest moving object in the world.  
  
The liner dwarfed those who manned her decks, and the flurry of activity on the dock below.  Passengers, spectators and White Star Line personnel were busy preparing for departure, all the while as luggage and cargo were carefully loaded into the ship's holds for the maiden voyage to New York.  
  
A trio of automobiles pushed their way through the throng, their horns blaring to announce their presence.  Leading the group was a 1912 Renault enclosed limousine, which looked resplendent in a gleaming black and white colour scheme.  The Renault slowed to a stop and a footman stepped down, opening the door for the passengers who were sat behind the driver.  The first to step out into the crowd was 18-year-old Hamish Haddock the 3rd, a thinly-built boy with stylish long auburn hair which was swept back at the sides.  His intelligent green eyes blinked against the glare of the sun, before they focussed on the ship which dominated his field of vision.  His grip tightened on the hat he held in his right hand.  
  
Behind him his father, Stoick Haddock, exited the vehicle.  Stoick was a bear of a man in his late forties, his build betrayed his heritage as a man who'd worked many a long day in his life, whilst his attire revealed the fact that he'd been considerably successful at what he'd done.  A smile beamed on the older man's face, tucked between a rich red moustache and beard.  He marvelled at the ocean liner before him.  
  


“It looks bigger than the _Mauretania_.”  Hamish observed in a Scottish brogue, aware of his father's presence.  
  
“It's nearly one-hundred feet longer, and has 20,000 tonnes of Haddock steel in it's construction.”  Stoick beamed.  
  
_Then we know who to hold accountable if something goes wrong_.  The younger man mused sardonically.  “In which parts?”  he turned slightly back towards his father in enquiry.  
  
“Only the best.”  The Scotsman boasted.  
  
“Sir!”  A White Star Line porter appeared from the crowd.  “You'll have to check your baggage through the main terminal, it's around that way, Sir!”  he indicated further along the dock.  
  
Stoick fumbled in his pocket of his jacket.  “I put my faith in you, good man.”  he replied as he placed a small pile of coins in the porter's hand, causing the man's eyes to practically shoot out of his skull.  “Now kindly see my man.”  
  
“Oh yes, Sir!  My pleasure, Sir!  If I can do anything at all-”  the porter was cut off as Stoick's valet, Spicer Lovejoy placed a firm hand on the eager man's shoulder, directing him towards the Rambler Four Touring which contained the Haddocks' luggage.  
Lovejoy was a stern-faced Englishman in his late fifties, who effortlessly conveyed the warmth and appearance of an undertaker.  
  
As Lovejoy set the porter to work, a man emerged from the final car of the group, a 1909 Benz _Landaulet_.  
With pale skin, slick black hair and a long thin nose he had the air of nobility about him.  Cosmo Pitchiner had worked his way up to a position of prominence within Haddock Steel, and would be joining his employer on the voyage to America.  
  
Pitchiner appeared at Stoick's side, his almost-yellow hazel eyes fixated on his gold pocket watch.  “We'd better hurry, Mr. Haddock.”  He observed in a clipped English accent, around them whistles around the dock began to sound.  With Stoick taking the lead, the three of them walked towards the First Class gangway, which was propped against the open door leading into the Reception Room on _Titanic_ 's D-Deck.

 

> **_It was the ship of dreams... to everyone else, to me it was a slave ship... taking me to America in chains.  Outwardly I was everything a well brought-up boy should be.  Inside... I was screaming._ **

 

* * *

  
Outside, the _Titanic_ 's funnel whistles blared out the final call to board.  Inside the Itchen Tavern the air stank of smoke, sweat and beer.  Jackson Overland was currently poised over an intense card game between himself, his friend Fabrizio and two Swedes.  Jackson was an upbeat man just shy of twenty, with long ruffled chestnut-coloured hair and a matching set of eyes, set above a mouth that often bore a mischievous smile.  
Fabrizio De Rossi, closer to thirty was an olive-skinned Italian with neat black hair.  A pair of dark eyes and a slight stubble added a slightly exotic quality to him.  
  
Jack listened as the older Swede berated the younger in his native tongue.  Overland didn't understand the language, but he suspected that the argument had something to do with the fact that the younger man had bet both of the Swedes' berth tickets.  
  
“Jack, you are _pazzo_!  You bet everything we have!”  Fabrizio was apoplectic.  
  
“When you've got nothing, you've got nothing to lose.”  Jack responded sagely in an American accent.  The two Swedes argued further before Overland looked at the younger of the two.  “Sven?”  
  
“ _Ett_.”  Sven responded, trading one car from his hand for another from the deck.  Jack also took the opportunity to trade a card, taking care not to reveal his hand.  
  
“Alright, moment of truth.  Somebody's life is about to change.” the American looked between the three other card players.  “Fabrizio?”  
  
Fabrizio placed his cards down on the table silently.  
  
“ _Niente_?”  
  
“ _Niente_.”  the Italian confirmed.  
  
“Olaf?”  Olaf set his cards down on the table as well, dejected.  “Nothing.”  Jack cast his gaze over to the player to his right.  “Sven?”  the Swede laid out his hand, two pairs.  The American winced.  “Uh-oh, two pair.  I'm sorry, Fabrizio.”  
  
“Que sorry?   _Ma fa'n culo_!  You bet all our money!”  he was beside himself, mortified.  
  
“I'm sorry, you're not gonna see your Mom again for a long time...”  he paused.  “...because we're going to America!  Full house, boys!”  He bellowed excitedly, slamming his winning hand on the table.  Fabrizio, unable to contain his excitement scooped up the tickets and began to dance about.  
  
Jack had barely started to gather up his winnings when Olaf reached across the table and grabbed him by the lapels of his coat, angrily shouting something which was lost by the language barrier.  With a curled fist primed, Jack closed his left eye in anticipation.  
  
The blow landed square on Sven's jaw, sending him tumbling out of his chair and onto the floor.  Jack couldn't help but laugh as the older Swede continued to admonish his companion.  
  
“C'mon!”  
  
“ _Figlio di puttana!_ ”  Fabrizio beamed.  
  
“I'm going home!”  Jack exclaimed as he kissed the tickets.  A moment later Fabrizio grabbed him in a bear hug.  “I'm going home!”  
  
“I go to America!”  Fabrizio cheered.  
  
“No mate!”  the pubkeeper shouted, drowning out their elation.  “ _Titanic_ go to America, in five minutes!”  He laughed, pointing at the clock on the wall behind him.  
  
“Shit!”  Jack's brain went into action, he unfurled his hat as Fabrizio ducked down to scoop up their winnings.  “C'mon!  Here!  Here!”  The American shouted, holding the hat beneath the rim of the table, coins, cards and a pocket watch falling into the welcoming darkness.

* * *

  
The streets of Southampton and the docks shot by as Jack and Fabrizio charged to their new destination.  
  
“We're riding it high style now!  We're a couple of regular swells!” he shouted as they ducked under a gangway.  “Practically goddamn royalty, _ragazzo mio_!”  
  
“You see?  Is my _destinio_!  Like I told you.  I go to _L'America_ to be a millionaire!”  Fabrizio's mouth, imagination and feet raced... almost head-first into a cart being pulled by two massive horses.  The creatures neighed in alarm as the two men of the world ducked out of the way.  
  
“Woah!  Woah!”  Jack sent out a deflecting hand.  
  
“ _Bastardo_!”  Fabrizio shouted at the driver, before shouting back at his companion.  “ _Quel pazzo_!”  
  
“Maybe, but I've got the tickets!”  Overland bellowed excitedly as they charged along the dock, running parallel to the ship's enormous black hull.  “C'mon!  I thought you were fast!”  Jack and Fabrizio finally arrived at the gangway to the Third Class entrance on E-Deck, which was already clear of the ship by a clear three feet.  “Woah!  Hold on!  Wait! Wait!”  Jack shouted as they crossed the gangway, approaching a bewildered looking officer.  “Wait!  Wait!  We're passengers!  Passengers!”  
  
The officer took a moment to study their tickets.  “Have you been through the inspection queue?”  
  
“Of course!  Anyway, we don't have any lice we're Americans, both of us!”  
  
The officer seemed doubtful, but with time against him he finally nodded.  “Right, come aboard!”  Jumping the gap, Jack and Fabrizio resumed their dash through the Reception Room and into _Titanic_ 's interior.  People of all ages, races and nations crowded through the tight white-painted corridors of Third Class, all the while as Jack smiled like a loon, high on the euphoria of winning the game, the run, and managing to make it on board just in time.  
  
“We're the luckiest sons of bitches in the world, you know that?”

* * *

  
A final trumpeting whistle blast echoed across Southampton as _Titanic_ 's great mooring lines were cast off.  Every port-side rail, bulwark and Promenade was crowded with passengers as they waved to the gathered crowd below.  Rushing out onto the Third Class promenade on the Poop Deck, Jack and Fabrizio joined the jovial throng.  
  
“Goodbye!”  Jack called out, waving out to the people beneath them.  From all around they could hear the triumphant and cheerful chirps and hoots from other ships as the great vessel slipped away from the Dock.  
  
“You know somebody?”  Fabrizio asked, confused.  
  
“Of course not!  That's not the point!”  Jack turned back to wave.  “Goodbye, I'll miss you!”  
  
“Goodbye!”  Fabrizio joined in.  “I'll never forget you!”  
  
Seven decks below, beneath the water's surface, the three colossal propellers attached to _Titanic_ 's stern began to rotate, churning up the silt on the bed of the harbour.  The efforts of the ship's giant reciprocating engines sent a low, constant vibration through the deck beneath their feet.  It wasn't long at all before the liner had begun to move forwards, leaving Southampton and England behind it.  
  
With the well-wishers fading into the distance, Jack and Fabrizio returned below to locate their cabin.  Like many of their fellow passengers, the white labyrinthine corridors were proving a challenge to navigate.  
  
“G-60?”  The American paused, looking down an off-shoot at a junction.  The wooden sign hung above them declared that cabins G-40 through G-58 could be found down that passage.  Unsuccessful, the two pressed further on.  “Excuse me!”  Jack offered as he ducked past a female passenger.  A new junction had presented itself to him, one he hoped would be their accommodation.  “G-60?”  He swept his eyes from one side of the new corridor to the other.  Finally, G-60 loomed into view on his left.  “Oh!  Right here!”  He shouted for Fabrizio's benefit.  The Italian, meanwhile, appeared to have caught his eyes on an attractive blonde woman in sensible dress.  
  
The cabin was fitted with two bunk beds, and very little else.  Already making themselves at home were two men of Nordic descent, who Jack assumed were friends of Sven and Olaf.  Stretching out a hand, the American greeted the two Swedes.  “Hey!  How you doing?  Jack.  Nice to meet you.”  
  
The men traded confused looks with each other as Fabrizio finally entered, dumping his bag on the top bed of the unoccupied berths. “I'm Jack Overland, nice to meet you!  How you doing?”  The American turned, just in time to see the Italian clambering up top.  “Who says you get top bunk?!”  He playfully tickled his companion as the two Swedes looked on.

* * *

  
“This is your private Promenade Deck, sir.  Would you be requiring anything?”  The steward politely enquired as Stoick inspected the space that was attached to cabin B-52.  The room was trimmed in dark wood with white panels, evoking the look of a Tudor manor house.  Populating the space were potted ferns and wicker furniture, as well as wooden trellises wrapped with vines.  
  
B-52 was one of the three cabins that comprised one of the ship's “Millionaires' Suites”, and would be home for Stoick and Hiccup for the next several days.  The allocation of the suite had been a gift from the White Star Line as a final thank you for the steel used in the liner's construction.  
  
Meeting with Stoick's approval, he gave the steward a curt nod to dismiss him.  “Excuse me.”  
  
The Sitting Room to B-52 was predominantly dark walnut, with gold finishing details.  Gold ornate wall sconces flagged the doors, and more good detailing could be found festooning the fireplace and mirror surround above the mantel.  A large marble panel formed the back panel of the fireplace, housing an electric fire with a panel of brass.  The furnishings featured walnut that matched the walls and floral fabrics that matched the carpet.  The room as a whole felt like it had been borrowed from a French _château_.  
  
Hamish sat awkwardly, almost uncomfortably in one of the floral chairs by the fire as he watched his luggage and his father's being loaded into their respective cabins.  Meanwhile, Pitchiner was sat casually on the _chaise longue_ , indulging in a glass of a champagne the steward had offered on their arrival.  
  
Acting as a conductor to the activity before them was Lovejoy, directing the porters to take each item to the correct destination.  
  
“Put it in there, in the wardrobe.”  The valet instructed as a man carried one of Stoick's heavy suitcases.  A fiercer expression of focus appeared when the elder Haddock's safe entered the Sitting Room.  The large item was square at the base but more of a cuboid in shape, painted a light green, and affixed with a brass-coloured handle and tumbler.  “Er, put it in the wardrobe.”  
  
The large Scotsman appeared in the doorway leading to the private Promenade, glancing around approvingly before fixating on his son.  
  
“A far cry from what I had when I was your age, Hamish.  Quite excellent, aren't they?”  
  
“They are.”  Hamish tried his best to sound more enthusiastic than he felt.  
  
“Once again, thank you for the invitation Mr. Haddock.”  Pitchiner raised his glass in salute to his employer.  
  
“You earned this with your hard work for the company.”  Stoick nodded.  “I hope your cabin meets with your approval?”  
  
“Very satisfactory.”  He nodded with a thin smile, making Hamish wonder... not for the first time... if he was being more than a little bit insincere.

* * *

 

 

> **_At Cherbourg, a woman came aboard named Margaret Brown, but we all called her Molly.  History would call her “the unsinkable” Molly Brown.  Her husband struck gold some place out west, and she was what father called “new money”._ **

  
Dusk settled on the _Titanic_ as the First Class passengers made their way to dinner.  As Hamish and Stoick stepped out of one of the ship's electric lifts that were situated behind the First Class Grand Staircase, they spotted a woman of large build and even larger personality carrying several items of matching luggage, a porter quickly following in her wake.  
She was in her mid-forties and dressed in a smart maroon ensemble with a black fur draped across her shoulders, and topped with a wide brown feathered hat with red flowers.  A vivid shade of scarlet lipstick graced lips on a face that seemed friendly and outgoing, and hinted at a personality to be reckoned with.  
  
“Well I wasn't about to wait all day for you, sonny!”  She playfully admonished as she set her luggage down on the carpet of the D-Deck Reception.  “Here, if you think you can manage.”  She passed the items to the porter, and resumed her journey to the lift that the steel magnate and his son had vacated.  The elder Haddock briefly gave a look of disdain to Hamish as they continued walking.


	3. Full ahead

**April 11th, 1912  
**

 

> **_By the next afternoon we were steaming west from the coast of Ireland, with nothing out ahead of us but ocean._ **

  
A strong, cool wind grasped at Jack's hair and clothes as he and Fabrizio rushed out on deck.   _Titanic_ was now picking up speed as she ploughed through the waters of the Atlantic ocean, and the two men were going to take advantage of the view.  Passing bollards and capstans, their feet swiftly crossed the planks of the ship's Forecastle as they sped for the bow railing.  Dashing past the mighty anchor chains and crossing the metal grating, they drew to a stop by the curved rail that overlooked the knife edge of the bow, and the expanding mass of the sea before them.  
  
Grasping the barrier, Jack peered over and watched as the waves were parted beneath them.  
  
“Hey!  Look!  Look!  Look!”  He grabbed Fabrizio's arm, pointing down at the water below where several shapes were darting about beneath the surface.  “See it?”  He asked as one of the Dolphins just grazed the surface.  “There's another one!  See him?”  The pod formed up, positioning themselves just in front of the ship's prow.  “Look at that one!  Look at him jump!”  A dark grey dolphin suddenly shot out of the water and dove back in, repeating the feat several times to the American's encouraging cheers.  
  
His senses alive and pulse raising, Jack stepped up onto the foot rests beneath the lowest rung of the rail, pulling himself up further with the rigging that ran from the knife's edge up to the forward mast.  
  
“Wooooo!”  he cheered as he took in the view from his new vantage point, his infectious enthusiasm flowing into his companion who leaned forwards towards the horizon, his face split by a wide smile.  
  
“I can see the Statue of Liberty already!”  Fabrizio boasted, pointing off into the distance.  “Very small, of course!”  he added with a playful shrug.  
  
It was their moment of triumph, and with Jack's emotions reaching breaking point, he cried out with every ounce of breath in his lungs:  “I'm the king of the world!”  
The two of them whooped and hollered in their mutual celebration.  As the Italian looked on, his American friend let out a final “Yeehaw!”, and extended his arms out at his sides.  With a tilt of his head, he closed his eyes and relished in the sensation of flying as the grand liner guided them to the New World.  
  


* * *

  
“She is the largest moving object ever made by the hand of man in all history.”  J. Bruce Ismay, chairman of the White Star Line boasted to the table of gathered passengers sat before him.  Ismay was a thin man on the edge of fifty with a round face that was adorned in a styled brown moustache and shrewd eyes.  “And our master ship builder, Mr. Andrews here, designed here from the keel plates up.”  Ismay indicated a dignified looking man with brown hair sat to his left.  
  
Thomas Andrews was a man just shy of forty, born and bred in Comber in County Down, and employed by Harland  & Wolf, the company that had assembled the _Titanic_ and her sister ship, the _Olympic_.  Despite having brought the grand liners to life, Andrews was a man who felt his role was much more humble than Ismay played it up to be.  Warm in smile and in temperament, the shipbuilder was noted for his popularity with the passengers and crew, as well as a scrutinising eye for detail.  
  
They, along with Stoick, Hamish, Pitchiner and Molly Brown were seated around a table in the port-side section of the Verandah Café, located abaft of _Titanic_ 's A-Deck superstructure.  The room was slightly smoky, and bathed in sunlight which shone through the tall arched windows overlooking the Promenade Deck and the ocean beyond.  The Café itself was predominantly white, with green trellises, potted plants and floral-themed wall lights.  Quickly moving about the room were white-jacketed waiters who served the passengers as they tucked into the first course of their lunch.  
  
“Well... I may've knocked her together, but idea was Mr. Ismay's.”  Andrews responded.  “He envisaged a steamer so grand in scale, so luxurious in its appointments, that its supremacy would never be challenged.  And here she is-”  he paused as he clapped his hands against the table.  “-willed into solid reality.”  
  
“Here, here!”  Stoick agreed as a waiter arrived, poised to take their orders.  
“I'll have the lamb, rare with very little mint sauce... as will my son.”  Stoick gave a quick glance to see if Hamish indicated to the contrary.  The dynamic between father and son had not gone unnoticed by Molly.  
  
“You going to cut his meat for him too, Stoick?”  Molly playfully chided.  The elder Haddock raised an eyebrow in disapproval but remained silent.  “Hey, uh... who though of the name ' _Titanic_ '?  Was it you, Bruce?”  She asked of Ismay.  
  
“Well yes, actually.”  he paused.  “I wanted to convey sheer size.  And size means stability, luxury and above all... strength.”  
  
Although Hamish knew that such discussion was of great interest to his father, the younger Scotsman was quickly finding his attention wondering, as well as a pressing need to seek fresh air.    
A sly smile danced on his lips as an idea formed in his head and he turned to pose the chairman a question.  
  
“Do you know of Dr. Freud, Mr. Ismay?  His ideas about the male preoccupation with size might be of particular interest to you.”  Andrews stifled a laugh as Molly nodded, a playful smile on her face, Ismay on the other hand looked suddenly flustered.  
  
Stoick bristled, before leaning over.  “What's gotten into you?”  he whispered harshly at Hamish.  Beside his father, Pitchiner looked equally displeased.  
  
“Excuse me.”  The younger Haddock replied curtly as he left the table.  
  
“I do apologise on behalf of my son.”  Stoick offered, his body wrought with embarrassment.  Any further conversation was lost to Hamish as he stepped through the sliding doors out onto the promenade and into the refreshing blast of air that enveloped him.  He continued to walk until he was up against the deck rail which overlooked the aft Well Deck below and the Poop Deck beyond.  The Third Class Promenade was crowded with men, women and children of all ages who were taking in the sea air and the sunshine.  The young Scotsman let his attention wander, studying the faces of the people below.

* * *

  
Jack sat atop one of the one of the bollards on the Poop Deck, a leather sketch pad propped on his knees.  His right hand was busy rendering a father and daughter who were stood at the railing looking at the ocean.  Beyond him, Fabrizio was talking to one of their fellow passengers, their conversation barely registering as the artist concentrated on the shading he was adding to the vignette.  
  
“The ship is nice, uh?”  
  
“Yeah, it's an Irish ship.”  replied Tommy Ryan, a Irish immigrant in his mid twenties.  Tommy had an oval face topped by a mop of chestnut brown hair, mostly hidden under a brown bowler hat.  He wore a brown tweed jacket, lighter brown trousers and an incredibly dark brown waistcoat, a dull ensemble even by the standards of the least affluent passengers on the ship.  
  
“Is English, no?”  the Italian asked, confused.  
  
“No!”  Tommy scoffed, indignant.  “It was built in Ireland.  Fifteen-thousand Irishmen build this ship.  Solid as a rock!  Big Irish hands.”  he paused as a pair of crewmen appeared on deck, a small pack of dogs leading them about.  The Irishman scowled at the sight.  “That's typical!  First Class dogs come down here to take a shite!”  he then took an angry drag of his cigarette.  
  
“Ah, it lets us know where we rank in the scheme of things!”  Jack chimed in flippantly, his sketching concluded.  
  
“Like we could forget?  I'm Tommy Ryan!”  the Irishman held out a hand, which the American accepted.  
  
“Jack Overland.”  
  
“Hello!”  
  
“Fabrizio!”  the Italian greeted.  
  
“Hi!”  Tommy nodded, returning to casually resting against the rail overlooking the Well Deck.  After a moment he indicated the artist's pad.  “Do you make any money with your drawings?”  
   
Tommy's question went unanswered as Jack's attention had been caught by something more interesting.

 

 

Having appeared moments ago at the rail of one of the decks above them was a young man, a little younger than Jack, dressed in a dark grey suit, red waistcoat and a lighter red tie.  The young man's auburn hair was swept back stylishly as he looked out across the decks beneath him and longingly off towards the horizon.  A dissatisfaction that jarred with the contented faces of his fellow passengers set the young man apart from the crowd, and Jack wondered what could cause such a handsome face to look so unhappy.

The Irishman had picked up on Jack's faraway look and had turned to see what the artist had been observing.  Spotting the young man Tommy turned back to the American with a sympathetic smirk.  
  
“Oh forget it, boyo.  You're as like have angels fly out of your arse as fraternising with the likes of him.”  Despite the teasing declaration, Jack continued to watch the young man.  For a moment he thought that the stranger might have turned to look straight at him, but Fabrizio's hand waving in front of the American's face ruined any chance of confirmation.  
  
A large man with a red beard and a dark blue suit walked into view and stopped beside the young man, placing a hand on his shoulder.  The larger man appeared to be in the process of admonishing the youth who quickly stormed away from the railing, leaving the older man to lean against it in order to vent his frustration.  
  
For Jack it was obvious that the large man was at least part of the reason why the youth had looked so dejected.  
  
  
****

**April 12th, 1912** ****

> **_I saw my whole life as if I'd already lived it, an endless parade of parties and cotillions, yachts and polo matches.  Always the same narrow people, the same mindless chatter... I felt I was standing at a precipice... with nobody to pull me back, nobody who cared... or even noticed._ **

  
Hamish's mood had been sombre all evening, gradually worsening as the night wore on and the alcohol began to take hold.  Normally he drank the quantity that was expected of a man of his age, but this evening... his father's reprimand still clear in his mind, he'd consumed more to numb the words and the pain.  At the end of dinner in the Dining Saloon he'd politely excused himself whilst the other male passengers retired to the Smoking Room, taking his leave to return to his cabin alone.  
  
The young Scotsman had eventually sent for a steward who brought him something to drink, leaving him with the bottle and his bleak state of mind.  His dinner jacket discarded and his bow tie undone to aid his comfort, he'd reclined in one of the chairs by the Sitting Room fire and decanted some of the golden-brown liquid into a glass tumbler.  The liquid burned as it went down, but it went down smoothly... it went down too easily.  As he drank, an idea formed in Hamish's head.  He rose from the chair less steadily than he'd sat in it, and took the bottle with him, having decided to go for a walk on the Promenade Deck.  
  


* * *

  
The chill in the air didn't register on his skin, thanks to the jacket of warmth the whisky had given him.  His feet hadn't stopped moving since he'd stepped out of the door of his cabin, and they were now leading him through the gate that allowed entry onto the Poop Deck.  
The deck was thrown mostly into darkness, with only the deck lights on the two massive cargo cranes, the Docking Bridge and on the ship's flagpole to light his way.  
His intoxicated pace took him past the benches, capstans and bollards, with not a soul in sight.  
 

* * *

  
Jack reclined on one of the benches on the Poop Deck, enjoying the respite offered by the Atlantic evening.  Although often the life and soul amongst his peers, there were rarer times where he enjoyed a bit of solitude in order to gather his thoughts and reflect, or just let his mind settle.  He took a drag from the cigarette he was smoking and exhaled, the smoke wafting away like it were a miniature version of _Titanic_ 's massive funnels.  The stars above shone down on him, his only companion.  
  
At least, that's what he thought until his bench suddenly rattled, followed by the sound of an empty bottle clattering to the deck.  He sat up as a figure ambled past, his back to Jack.  Based on the white shirt and waistcoat, the American guessed it was a First Class passenger, presumably there to either get some fresh air, or to be sick over the side.  
  
The artist continued to observe, a habit that had become second nature with him.  The drunk man bumped into and then braced himself against the stern railing, having reached his destination.  
  
Jack was about to return to his stargazing, when the figure suddenly began to climb up and over the barrier.  
 

* * *

  
In his state, climbing over the rail was a lot more awkward than it should've been for someone his age.  The fantail of the stern had yawned before him, and the railing had looked very inviting.  Placing both feet on the first rung of the metalwork, Hamish reached up to the flag pole to help steady himself as he clambered over.  
  
Below, the froth of the ship's wake churned above the dark and deep ocean.  
  
He lowered himself down on the opposite side of the barrier and stood on the edge of the deck, his arms wrapped around the rail behind him.  His mind was now made up as he leant out into the darkness.  
  
The sudden sound of a man's voice cut into his concentration.  
  
“Please don't do it.”  it was quiet, and tinged with reassurance.  
  
“Stay back!”  Hamish turned to face the owner of the voice.  “Don't come any closer!”  
  
“Please give me your hand, I'll pull you back over.”  the man was in his late teens and had a mess of brown hair.  He held out his right hand as an olive branch.  
  
“No!  Stay where you are!”  the young Scotsman shouted, tears had begun to run down his face.  “I mean it, I'll let go!”  
  
The stranger took a cautious step closer, holding a cigarette in his hand to show he didn't mean any harm, he then threw it over the side where it vanished into the darkness.  
  
“No you won't.”  he responded, calmly.  
  
Hamish blazed.  
  
“What do you mean 'no I won't'?  Don't think you can tell me what I will and will not do.  You don't know me!”  
  
“You're right, I don't.”  the man nodded.  “But I'd like to.”  he offered the hand again.  Hamish studied the man's face for a moment, he was sincere.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Well...”  the stranger paused, considering his words.  “...because there must be something pretty awful going on to make someone like yourself want to do something like this.  You must have friends who'd miss you?”  
  
“I don't have any friends.”  the younger man stated, matter-of-factly.  
  
“Oh.”  the stranger hesitated, considering his next move.  “Well, you can be my friend, then.  I'm sure you'd make good friends in the right place, being someone as well spoken and as handsome as you are.”  
The compliment took Hamish by surprise, it was the last thing he'd been expecting.  He scruitinized the stranger's expression, before taking another look at the ocean below.  
“It'd be freezing, maybe a couple of degrees over.  I'm willing to go in there after you, but I'm hoping you might let me off the hook.”  The stranger offered a weak smile.  “You ever been to Pennsylvania?”  
  
“No.”  Hamish shook his head.  
  
“Well, winter gets pretty cold there.  I grew up near Burgess Lake and I remember when I was a kid I went out skating with my little sister.  I fell through some thin ice and I'm telling ya, water that cold... like right down there...”  he leant against the railing, looking at the waves below.  “...it hits you like a thousand knives stabbing all over your body.  You can't breath, you can't think... least not about anything but the pain.  It was dark, and it was cold, and I was scared... and I don't want to see someone else go through that.”  
  
Hamish looked back down, his confidence in his plan now departing.  The stranger slowly slid even closer, now within arm's reach.  
  
“Please, give me your hand.”  he held it out a third time, which Hamish finally, gingerly accepted.  The grip on the Scotsman's wrist tightened as he manoeuvred himself so that he was fully facing the man who had no reason to care about him, yet still did.  Their eyes met, and the strange American offered a warm smile.  “I'm Jack Overland.”  
  
“Hamish... Hamish Haddock, the third.”  
  
“I'll have to get you to write that down.”  Jack smiled, the effort helped to diffuse the tension and caused Hamish to let out a nervous laugh.  
  
“If it helps... you can always call me Hiccup.”  Hamish offered.  
  
“'Hiccup'?”  Jack smirked.  
  
“It's an old family name... it's supposedly Viking.”  
  
“Well... _Hiccup_... It's good to meet you.  C'mon.”  
  
The Scotsman began to climb the rail, but the alcohol in his system continued to impair his motor skills. Without warning his foot suddenly slipped.  
  


* * *

  
Jack's heart leapt from his chest as his arm shot forward, just managing to grasp Hiccup's hand before it'd fallen out of reach.  The young man dangled precariously over the stern as the muscles in Jack's arm began to burn.  
  
“Aggggh!  Help!”  fear shot through Hiccup's eyes as his voice rang out.  With both hands the American pulled at the Scotsman's outstretched arm.    
  
“I've got you!”  Overland did his best to reassure.  He winched Hiccup up far enough so that the lad's free arm could grab the rail.  “Pull yourself up!”  Jack instructed and the Scotsman grabbed the barrier, helping to shoulder the load with his own muscles.  “I've got you.”  Hiccup's body was half-way over the rain when his centre of gravity shifted and he fell forwards, sending him crashing into Jack before they both tumbled to the deck.  Weary, but safe, the two young men greedily inhaled the cold air as they recovered from their exertion.  
  
Behind them, the sound of boots on the deck boards arose and three crewmen appeared from the darkness.  Upon finding Jack and Hiccup sprawled in front of them in a dishevelled state, the crewmen took cautious stances.  
  
“What's all this?”  the lead crewman asked.  Seeing Jack and the state of Hiccup, he barked at the steerage passenger: “You stay back, and don't move an inch!”  He turned to the man to his right.  “Fetch the Master-at-Arms!”


	4. Survivors

The fleeting relief Jack had felt after they'd tumbled onto the deck had quickly evaporated, replaced by alarm when the three members of _Titanic_ 's crew had appeared in response to Hiccup's shouts.  The alarm grew even worse when the stern-faced Master-at-Arms appeared, followed by three passengers dressed in their finery and a fourth dressed in a smart tweed suit.  It was when Jack saw the large man with the beard and moustache that he realised the boy who he'd helped save was the same young man he'd seen on deck the previous day.  
  
The Master-at-Arms, a burly man in his early forties with a ruddy round face, and a short blond moustache was busy applying a set of handcuffs to Jack's wrists whilst the large man loomed at him, his face red with fury.  
  
“This is completely unacceptable!  How dare you attack my son!”  he fumed.  Despite being berated, Jack cast a quick glance over at Hiccup, who was being tended to by by a kindly looking, if slightly portly gentleman and the man in tweed.  The kindly man had offered a Hiccup a glass of brandy as the large Scotsman’s voice caught the American's attention.  “Look at me, you filth!”  He grabbed one of the lapels of the Jack's waistcoat to whip his back to face him.  
  
“Father!”  
  
“What do you think you were doing?!”  
  
“Father, stop!”  Hiccup jumped up from the bench and grabbed the older man's arm.  “It was an accident!”  
  
Stoick studied his son's face, dubious of the claim. “An accident?”  
  
“It was.”  the younger Scotsman replied, an edge in his voice.  “Stupid, really.  I was leaning over to see the propellers... and I slipped.  I would've gone overboard, but Mr. Overland here saved me.  He almost went over himself.”  
  
“You wanted to see the propellers.”  Stoick rolled his eyes, not seeming completely convinced.  He glanced towards Jack for a moment, before returning to face his son.  
  
“Was that the way of it?”  the coxswain enquired, also in a thick Scottish accent, his suspicion of Jack plain to see.  The American glanced at Hiccup before he responded:  
  
“Yeah.  Yeah, that was pretty much it.”  
  
“Well, the boy's a hero then!”  the kindly man, Colonel Archibald Gracie congratulated.  “Good for you, son.  Well done!”  Jack felt the constriction on his wrists release as the handcuffs were removed.  “So it's all's well, and uh... back to our brandy, eh?  Hah!”  
  
“Look at you, you must be freezing!”  Stoick quickly ran his hands up and down Hiccup's arms to generate some friction heat.  “Let's get you inside.”  he instructed as he began to lead his son away.  
  
“Er... perhaps a little something for the boy?”  Gracie suggested, nodding towards Jack.  
  
“Of course.”  Stoick nodded, he mulled for a moment, taking a quick glance at his son.  “Perhaps you could join us for dinner, tomorrow evening... to regale our group with your heroic tale?”  the large Scotsman quickly looked at Gracie who responded with a eyebrow arched in curiosity.  
  
“Sure, count me in.”  Jack accepted.  
  
“Good, settled then.”  Stoick offered a polite but cool smile before turning away.  
  
As they walked, the third First Class passenger, a tall man with pale skin joined the group and muttered a little too loudly: “This should be interesting.”  Gracie did his best to stifle the laugh, but the effort was in vain.  
  
Although the others had left, the man in tweed had remained behind.  
  
“Rather careless that Master Haddock should be missing his jacket on such a cold evening.  And that he should wish to see the propellers.  It was very fortunate that you just happened to be here.”  
  
Jack glared, but didn't say a word.  The man in tweed briskly walked off, leaving the American to his thoughts, and the evening's excitement.  
  


* * *

  
More sober and clear-headed than he had been earlier that evening, Hiccup regarded his reflection in the cabin mirror with awkwardness, almost unable to look himself in the eye.  His eyes were still tinged red from the tears, whilst his skin looked pale and slightly clammy under the cabin lights.    
He was now dressed in his nightwear, thankful to have been able to shrug out of the uncomfortable evening attire which reminded him of the evening's earlier events.  
  
With the clarity of hindsight he scolded himself for doing something so stupid, reckless and selfish.  With new determination, he resolved to find another way of changing the things he felt unhappy about in his life, a way that didn't involve jumping overboard.  It was in this period of quiet reflection that he also resolved to try locate Jack Overland in the morning so he could personally thank him for his intervention.  
  
A knock at the door broke him from his thoughts, and he turned in time to see his father enter Cabin B-56.  Like his son, Stoick had decanted into his night wear and was now clothed in an expensive dressing gown over his pyjamas.  One large hand closed the door behind him, whilst the other held a box.  
  
“How are you feeling?”  the elder Haddock enquired.  
  
“Better now, now that I've got solid deck beneath my feet.”  
  
“Good.”  the Scotsman nodded, he then crossed the room to the dressing table and set the box down.  Bound in black velvet with a gold swing clasp, it looked expensive.  
“There's something I've been planning to show you, Son, and given the nasty scare you had earlier this might help take your mind off of it.”  
  
He lifted the lid, exposing the contents.  tailored in a mixture of white and dark navy blue satin, the interior of the box caressed a necklace.  
Upon first inspection the necklace appeared to be a simple design compared to the jewellery worn by the female passengers of First Class, but through closer inspection the assembly was revealed to be far more intricate.  
  
The chain was long and silver, studded with small glittering diamonds along the full length.  At the mid-point the chain connected with a silver fitting which held the centre-piece of the necklace: a large, heart-shaped jewel.  It was deep blue in colour, with facets which shifted in shade as the light reflected off of it.  The finishing touch of the design was a border of diamonds, which provided a rich contrast.  
  
Regardless of the worth of all the other precious stones that surrounded it, the heart-shaped gem was easily the most valuable in the collection.  
  
“Is that a diamond?”  the younger Haddock enquired, looking up at his father.  
  
“A very rare one.”  Stoick nodded.  “I'm reliably informed that it is a 56 carat diamond, and was once worn by Louis the Sixteenth.  It had a different name when it was in his possession, but it's now called ' _La Couer de la Mer_ ', the-”  
  
“The 'Heart of the Ocean'.”  
  
The elder Scotsman nodded approvingly, pleased that Hiccup was putting his French to use.  “Yes.  It's my hope that once you've found a suitable woman in America to become your bride, that you'll give it to her as an engagement present.”  He placed a hand proudly on his son's shoulder.  The younger Haddock smiled back, hoping to placate his father.  Although he tried his hardest to look like he was sharing in his father's enthusiasm, the truth was that he didn't feel it at all.  
 ****

 

**April 13th, 1912**

The following morning, Hiccup had awoken feeling refreshed, and energised.  The incident of the previous night was already beginning to fade into memory, and feeling more positive, he had set out shortly after breakfast to locate Jack Overland.  
It had taken the young Scotsman a short while to track the American down, eventually locating him in the Third Class General Room.  Overland had been sat with some of his fellow steerage passengers, and after a few polite excuses the two young men had found themselves in deep conversation as they strolled along the Boat Deck.  
  
“-I've been on my own for a little while now, since my folks died.  For a while I liked being on my own, no rules, no responsibilities... but after a while it can get lonely.”  
  
“You mentioned you had a sister?”  Hiccup enquired.  
  
“Yes.”  Jack nodded.  “She moved in with some kin we had not far from where we lived.  I started looking for work and that eventually took me away from Pennsylvania.  Before I knew it I'd ended up half-way around the world.”  
  
“You must be looking forward to seeing her again.”  
  
“Yeah, she's probably already grown up... at least, she'll act grown up.  She was always much more serious than me.”  he smiled fondly.  “How about you, do you have any brothers or sisters?”  
  
“I'm an only child... though I bet you could probably tell the way my father was acting last night.”    
An awkward silence developed between the two of them.  Hiccup finally broke it, addressing the elephant in the room.  “I wanted to thank you for last night... not just for pulling me back, but for your discretion... especially in front of my father and the others.”  
  
“It's no problem.”  the American smiled warmly.  
  
“I know what you must be thinking, 'poor spoilt little rich boy, he knows nothing about real misery'.”  
  
“No.  No, that's not what I was thinking.”  Jack paused, resting one hand on one of the thick stays holding one of _Titanic_ 's funnels in place.  “What I was thinking was what could've happened to this boy to make him think he had no way out.”  he elaborated sympathetically.  
  
“It was...  It was everything.”  Hiccup sighed, walking to the bulwark, not meeting Jack's eyes.  “It was my whole world, and all the people in it... and the inertia of my life.  Plunging ahead and me... powerless to stop it.”  the auburn-headed lad looked out quietly at the horizon for a moment.  “My father wants me to be this master of the family company when I'm older, but how can I master that when I don't even feel like I'm able to master my own path in life.”  
  
“It's not too late to take charge.”  Jack suggested.  
  
“Snatch my life back from my father?”  the younger man let out a bitter laugh.  “You obviously don't know my father very well.”  his eyes glancing down, the Scotsman noticed the sketch pad in the American's hand.  Eager for a distraction, he indicated the object. “What is that, anyway?”  
  
Jack idly looked at what he was holding.  “Just some sketches.”  
  
“May I?”  at Hiccup's request, Jack held the pad out to him.  The younger man carefully flipped the cover open as he crossed the deck towards the entrance to the First Class Grand Staircase.  Sitting down on a vacant deck chair he took the opportunity to study the contents of the pad in greater detail.  Jack sat down beside Hiccup, watching as the Scotsman reviewed his work.  
“These are rather good.”  he continued to carefully turn over the sketches.  “They're very good, actually.”  he rotated a drawing around to see it more clearly; it was of a woman breast-feeding her child.  The next page revealed a sketch of a child with a pair of elderly hands placed protectively over her.  A scribble in Jack's hand had annotated the rendering: Grand Pere _Gean Luis and Cybella, Giverny_ , 3-27-1912.  “This is exquisite work.”  
  
“Ah, they didn't think much of them in 'old Paree'.”  the artist deflected dismissively.  
  
“Paris?”  Hiccup looked up at him, an eyebrow arched.  “You do get around, for a poor-”  he froze, mortified at the slip.  “Well... uh... a person of limited means...”  
  
“Go on, 'a poor guy'... you can say it.”  Jack smiled cheekily, amused at the auburn-headed lad's embarrassment.  
  
In an effort to put his embarrassment behind him, Hiccup turned over another page, revealing a classical nude of a woman reclined on cushions, a cigarette in her mouth.  His cheeks reddened further.  
  
“Well well well!”  he turned over the page, revealing another study, an upper-body depiction of a woman with her arms placed carefully to conceal her nakedness.  Above the sketch of the woman was a drawing of another classical female nude, posed in the relaxed stance of a dancer, stood beside a rehearsal mirror.  “And these were drawn from life?”  
  
An approaching passenger caused Hiccup to shield the pad for a moment, concealing the work from scrutiny and disapproval.  
  
“Well that's one of the good things about Paris, lots of girls willing to take their clothes off.”  Hiccup let out a quick laugh at the remark, before turning back to the artwork.  A new rendering revealed another young woman in a reclined pose, staring intently at the artist as she was being drawn.  “You liked this woman, you used her several times.”  he carefully placed the sheet with the others he had seen, revealing a piece of a woman's bosom, partially hidden behind clothing and the woman's hand.  
  
“Well-”  Jack paused, reaching across to grasp the pad so he could elaborate better.  “-she had beautiful hands, you see?”  he indicated with a simple portrait of two hands set against a background of fabric.  
  
“I think you must've had a love affair with her.”  Hiccup joked coyly.  A flash of surprise, mixed with something else went across Jack's face for a moment, before he interjected.  
  
“No! No! No! No! No!  Just with her hands!”  he insisted.  “She was a... one-legged prostitute.”  To emphasize his point, he flipped the page over to a very revealing drawing.   “See?”  
  
Hiccup's reaction was involuntary, an audible exclamation of shock and discomfort at the image.  After a moment, and regaining his composure, he let out a nervous laugh, which was matched by Jack.  
  
“She had a good sense of humour, though.”  the artist leant across to flip the next page over.  “Oh and this lady, she used to sit at this bar every night wearing every piece of jewellery she owned... just... waiting for her long-lost love to return.  We called her ' _Madame Bijoux_ '.  See?  Her clothes are all moth-eaten.”  the woman was of advanced years with a prominent beauty mark.  An elegant, stylish hat sat on her head, whilst a thick fur coat hugged her body.  Her neck and wrists were draped in different types of jewellery whilst her fingers were adorned with many rings of varying design and style.  
  
“You have a gift Jack, you do.  You see people.”  
  
“I see you.”  he nodded at Hiccup.  
  
“And?”  the lad asked.  
  
“You wouldn't have jumped.”  the American said, with certainty.  
  
A pregnant silence descended between the two and Jack felt a compunction to dispel it.  He concentrated on the younger man's face, taking in the subtler details that hadn't been as obvious the previous night.  In the light of day, the artist could see how handsome Hiccup was, starting with his rich green eyes and moving on to the small constellation of freckles that was scattered across the auburn-headed lad's face.  Overland narrowed his eyes as he peered even closer, noticing a thin line that looked like a scratch above Hiccup's chin.  
  
The younger man faced his observer, a quizzical eyebrow raised.  
  
“Sorry.”  the American blushed.  “I hadn't noticed your scar before.”  
  
A ghost of a smile flashed on the Scotsman's face.  
  
“This...”  he touched the spot self consciously, before a thoughtful look flitted across his features.  
“I used to have a toy crane when I was little... it was one of those toys you could construct yourself, and it had a spring mechanism to winch up a miniature load of cargo.”  Jack listened intently as Hiccup reminisced.  “Well, one day I was playing with it and I wound too much tension into the spring.  The whole thing came apart, sending bits flying everywhere... and one piece with a sharp edge went across my chin, drawing blood.”  he explained.  “Father was beside himself, and I never did get to play with it again.”  
  
Jack offered a lop-sided smile.  “I think what I like most about it is that it isn't obvious at first... it's like... you're a fine portrait.”  
  
“Are you saying I'm dusty and look good hung on a wall?”  Hiccup mocked playfully.  
  
“No!”  the artist held up his hands, chuckling.  “What I meant is, get you in the right light... and look a little closer... and suddenly, there's all these new, hidden details that weren't visible before.”  
  
The younger Haddock blushed a little, it was the nicest compliment he'd ever received.  
  


* * *

  
Their conversations continued as they descended to the A-Deck promenade, the two young men strolling aft.  
  
“Paris for me... was more about living on the streets and trying to put it on the paper.”  Jack tapped his pad for emphasis.  “Do you know what I mean?”  
  
Hiccup let out a sound of envy.  “You know, my dream's always been to just... run away and earn my living!”  he enthused.  “I might be living in a garret, I might be poor... but I'd be free!”  
  
“You'd last two days.  There's no hot water and hardly ever any caviar.”  Jack teased.  
  
“I happen to hate caviar.”  Hiccup countered tersely.  “I'm not much of a fan of smoked Eel either.  I hate people telling me what interests I should and shouldn't have.”  
  
“I'm sorry, you're right.”  Jack nodded, apologetic.  For Hiccup it was refreshing not only to have a peer around his age to talk to, but someone who appeared to be a kindred spirit.  
  
“A lot of people have looked down at me because compared to my father, I look like some sort of... talking fish bone, a runt.”  
  
“A 'talking fish bone'?”  Jack tried his best to stifle a laugh.  
  
“I may not have his physique, but I'm sturdy.  I'm strong as a horse!  I'm here to do something, not just sit around in a board room making decisions!”  
  
“You don't have any interest in your father's business?”  
  
“Well... I like the idea of working with metal... shaping it, forming it, crafting it into something incredible, like this ship.  Before he made his fortune, my father used to do it for a living... but now that he's head of his company and I'm the heir, there's no opportunity for me to get my hands dirty and have that sense of accomplishment you get when you've done something yourself.  You see these hands?  They were made for work!”  Hiccup was on a roll now. “There's something in me Jack, like a dynamo... I feel it, I don't know what it is... Whether I should be an artist, or an inventor or a... I don't know!”  
  
“Well, if you want to become an artist, you should go to the pier at Coney Island.  I used to sell portraits there for ten cents a piece, and make a dollar a day in the summer.”  
  
“I wish I was like you, Jack.  Just head out for the horizon whenever I feel like it.”  the Scotsman had been won over by the romantic notion of the travelling artist's life.  “Say we'll go there sometime to that pier, even if we only ever just talk about it.”  
  
“No!  We'll do it!  We'll drink cheap beer and we'll ride on the roller coaster until we throw up.”  Hiccup laughed, Jack's proposal was unsophisticated... yet deeply appealing to him.  “And if somebody should pick a fight, we'll send them off with our fists.”  
  
Hiccup let out a stifled laugh.  “I've never been in a fist fight in my life!”  
  
“Well, you'll need to know how to defend yourself if you plan to run away to become an artist.”  Jack mused, a wry smile on his face.  He set his pad down by the bulwark and held up both hands, palms open and facing Hiccup.  “Give me your best shot.”  
  
“What?”  the Scotsman asked with a bemused laugh.  
  
“I'm serious... just... give me your best right hook, or your left.”  
  
“What?!  No!”  Hiccup protested, suddenly looking around consciously.  
  
“I'm not going to let you leave until you punch my hand.”  there was a edge of determination in Jack's voice, and letting out a reluctant sigh, Hiccup pulled off his jacket so that he felt less restricted.  Adopting a pugilistic pose, he darted out a hand, just slapping Jack's.  
  
“That was pitiful!”  Jack chided.  “Watch closely!”  he instructed, and turned to face out towards the ocean.  He balled up his fist, pulled it back and swung it out.  “See the swing to it?  Pulling it back also helps you build up speed and mass.”  he pivoted back.  “Give it another try.”  
  
This time, Hiccup pulled back his balled up fist, and after a moment, he sent it hurtling into Jack's palm.  His hand hurt a little this time, and he could tell by Jack's face that his hand had also stung.  “That was better, you've gotta work on it.”  
  
A throat cleared behind them, and both young men turned, seeing Stoick, Molly Brown, Pitchiner and the Countess of Rothes.  
  
The Countess was an elegant woman in her mid thirties.  A beauty mark graced one side of her china doll-like features and the hint of curled dark brown hair was visible beneath a wicker hat adorned with a variety of fabric flowers.  A woman of sophistication, she wore a long white dress featuring an elaborate array of detailing and lace-work.  Molly was wearing a black dress, that was also treated to an elaborate level of lace, and a wide-brimmed silver hat complete with satin ribbons and flowers.  Stoick wore a smart day suit, trimmed in his traditional dark grey, complimented with a dark blue waistcoat.  Pitchiner wore a similar day suit, but featuring a rich gold waistcoat.  The two older men studied the younger two suspiciously.  The Countess and Molly expressed their curiosity and bemusement respectively.  
  
“Father!”  Hiccup greeted, a little startled as he snatched up his jacket.  
  
“Hamish.”  Stoick nodded, polite but firm.  
  
“Master Haddock.”  Pitchiner greeted coolly.  
  
“May I introduce Mr. Jack Overland.”  the younger Scotsman elaborated for the Countess's and Molly's benefit.  Both women nodded politely in greeting, and listened attentively as Hiccup explained how he'd been saved by his companion the previous night.

> **_The others were gracious and curious about the man who saved my life.  My father and Mr. Pitchiner however continued to regard him with cold suspicion, as if they were worried Jack would somehow take advantage of me._ **

  
“Well Jack, sounds like you're a good man to have around in a sticky spot.”  Molly mused, the most endeared of the group.  The trumpeting sound of a bugle reverberated around the Promenade Deck, catching their attention.  “Why do they always insist on announcing dinner like a damn cavalry charge?”  Hiccup laughed at Molly's exasperated observation.  
  
“Shall we go dress, father?”  the younger Scotsman suggested to the elder, who nodded silently.  “See you at dinner, Jack.”  he led his father and Pitchiner away, neither saying a word.  The Countess bid a polite farewell, leaving only Molly with the artist.  
  
“Uh, son?  Son!”  Jack, whose attention was still on Hiccup, shifted to focus on his fellow countrywoman.  “Do you have the slightest comprehension what you're doing?”  
  
“Not really.”  he admitted.  
  
“Well you're about to go into the snake pit.”  she warned.  “What are you planning to wear?”  The artist shrugged, indicating his casual attire, causing her to emit a disbelieving sigh.  “I figured.  C'mon.”  she took him by the arm and led him along the deck to her cabin.  
  


* * *

  
In stateroom B-2, Jack contorted as Molly helped him into an expensive black dinner jacket.  The entire outfit was worth more than Jack had ever earned or seen in his life, and he felt less than comfortable in the ensemble.  
  
“I was right!”  Molly cheered, dusting off the shoulders as Jack applied a few last minute adjustments to his hair, swept back and tidy compared to his usual tousled look.  “You and my son are just about the same size.”  
  
“Pretty close.”  Jack nodded, getting a feel for the jacket and cautiously checking his range of movement.  Turning to look into the full-length mirror, he posed, taking in the stranger before him.  Molly whistled approvingly.  
  
“You shine up like a new penny!”  she laughed.


	5. Dinner in First Class, dancing in Steerage

Bidding temporary farewell to Molly so that she could finish preparing, Jack took his leave and climbed the stairways up to the Boat Deck, enjoying the light of the sunset and the breeze which helped cool him down.  He was finding the unfamiliar clothing warmer than his usual collection and after a few minutes of the Atlantic air, he walked over to the starboard-side corner entrance of the First Class Grand Staircase.  A steward opened the door for him, granting him access to the Boat Deck landing.  
  
“Good evening, Sir.”  
  
Taking the room in, Jack realised his breath had been caught in his throat by the most elaborate space he'd ever been in.  The feature of the landing was a large glass dome, rendered in black wrought-iron with gold details, and white frosted glass.  At the centre of the dome was a large crystal chandelier that glowed brightly, sending light out in all directions.  The main chandelier was accompanied by smaller ones located around the landing, providing a warm and welcoming atmosphere.  
The walls, columns and balustrades were achieved in rich polished oak, the rails themselves installed with more wrought-iron panels with gold detailing.  The floor was divided up into large square white enamel tiles, with a repeating motif of black squares and triangles.  Arched windows on either side of the landing let the last of the natural light into the room, whilst carpets, chairs, potted plants and a piano provided recreation and entertainment options for the gathering First Class passengers.  
  
Classical music drifted up from below, completing the vision of an English country house at sea.  Jack descended to a mezzanine level between the Boat Deck and A-Deck, turning to study the clock on the wall.  Reading 7:37pm, it was set into a carved panel depicting two winged figures, one with a leaf and the other writing on a tablet.  The angelic characters appeared to be paying tribute to the central dial.  Unbeknown to the artist these figures were Honour and Glory, crowning time.  
  
As the clock ticked away with the same level of distinction as the passengers around it, he continued to descend the staircase, noting the bronze winged cherub that was fixed to the central balustrade.  Held in the cherub's hands was an illuminated torch with a sculpted glass shade, the final detail designed to resemble a blazing flame.  
The light from the cherub shone down on to the base of the staircase as it swept out before him.  
  
Jack stepped off of the flight of stairs and paused at one of the room's pillars, self conscious and feeling like a fish out of water.  He idly crossed his arms over his chest as he waited, quickly realising how conspicuous the pose made him.  Standing straight and peering around, he studied those who surrounded him and proceeded to mimic how the men of First Class carried and held themselves; holding one arm behind him at the small of his back.  
  
“Hello.”  a passenger in his late fifties with a silver beard greeted politely.  The young American returned a polite nod and smile.  The sound of familiar voices caught his attention, and he turned back to look up at the staircase.  Descending towards him were Stoick and Pitchiner, who appeared to be deep in conversation of a business sort.  The artist approached, ready to greet them, only for Stoick to politely nod and Pitchiner to blank him completely.  The latter's attention had been attracted by the sight of the Countess of Rothes who was stood across the landing from them.  
  
“There is the countess!”  Pitchiner observed excitedly, taking the opportunity to accept her offered hand and place a kiss on it.  
  
“Good evening!”  she greeted.  
  
Jack watched, more bemused than offended at being ignored.  He turned to look back up the staircase and it was at that moment that he spotted Hiccup, dressed in black dinner jacket, white waistcoat and tie.  The Scotsman was attired in the complete and intact vision of what Jack had glimpsed the previous evening.  
  
And Hiccup looked stunning.  
  
The young Scotsman's eyes lingered as well, before he smiled and stepped down to greet Jack.  A few steps below him, Jack took Hiccup's hand and shook it warmly, lingering a little longer than what might have been deemed appropriate.  
  
“Hello...”  was all Jack could manage, before stepping back to let Hiccup descend.  The two strolled over to Stoick and Pitchiner, just as the Countess departed.  
  
“Father, Mr. Pitchiner, you remember Mr. Overland?”  
  
The elder Scotsman and the Englishman both turned and peered at Jack for the moment.  Their expressions were soon replaced by a variety of surprise and disbelief upon finally recognising the American.  
  
“Overland?”  Stoick uttered, taken back at the transformation.  
  
“Amazing!  You could almost pass for a gentleman.”  Pitchiner observed coolly.  
  
“Almost.”  Jack playfully agreed, owning the back-handed compliment.  
  
“Extraordinary.”  Pitchiner did his best to try regain the upper hand, before joining Stoick as the First Class passengers descended the rest of the staircase to the Dining Saloon on D-Deck.  
  
Jack and Hiccup shared a knowing look before following, their eyes dancing with unspoken laughter.  


* * *

  
The D-Deck landing was a throng of the elite of Edwardian society and a sea of expensive garments.  Jack felt uncomfortable in the surroundings, and yet something about having Hiccup there made him less nervous.  
  
“There's the Countess of Rothes.”  the young Scotsman indicated the elegant woman Jack had met earlier, she was busy speaking to a man with medals and a great white beard; Edward John Smith, Captain of the _Titanic_.  Smith was a dignified looking man in his early sixties who looked every bit the part of his nickname: “the millionaires' captain”.  
“And... um... that's John Jacob Astor, the richest man on the ship.”  he pointed toward a tall figure with neat brown hair and moustache.  “His wife there Madeleine is in 'delicate' condition... see how she's trying to hide it?”  he turned, looking at Madeleine Astor for a moment.  “Quite the scandal!”    
  
Both he and Jack shared a quiet laugh.  “And... that's Benjamin Guggenheim and his mistress, Madame Aubert.”  he nodded towards a man with short grey hair who was speaking to a woman half his age in a black dress.  “Mrs. Guggenheim is at home with the children, of course... and over here we have Sir Cosmo and Lucille, Lady Duff-Gordon.”  Hiccup motioned towards a man in his early fifties with a wide grey moustache who was stood next to a slightly scary looking woman with long brown hair, an elaborate black dress and an equally elaborate hairpiece.  “She designs naughty lingerie, among her many talents.   _Very_ popular with the royals.”  the Scotsman added.  It relieved Jack to learn that the upper crust was as human as those he usually fraternised with, even if the elite were a bit more clandestine about their vices.  
  
“Care to escort a lady to dinner?”  Molly appeared, attired in a sparkly black evening dress with a fan, an assortment of diamond jewellery and a feathered hairpiece.  Her smile was warm and friendly, and it relaxed Jack further to know he had another friend in First Class.  He quickly turned to Hiccup who seemed to be thinking the same thing.  
  
“Certainly.”  Jack smiled, and both young men stood either side of Molly, escorting her into the Dining Saloon.  
  
“Ain't nothing to it is there, Jack?  Remember, they love money so just pretend you own a gold mine and you're in the club.”  
  
The three of them stepped through a pair of swinging wooden doors with wrought-iron panels, and entered the expansive dining area.  Like the Reception behind them it was painted in gloss white, with ornate carving.  In addition to the main dining area in the middle of the room, several smaller alcoves were created with partition walls with high arched windows.  The ceiling lights burned brightly along with fake windows on either side of the saloon, and silver lamps on each of the tables which ensured none of the patrons were left without adequate illumination.   The tables were smartly appointed in crisp patterned linens and complimented with sturdy wooden chairs, fitted with extravagant green leather upholstery.  
  
The group neared John Jacob Astor, who'd just finished speaking to the Captain and the Countess when Molly called out to him.  
  
“Hey Astor!”  he turned and a momentary look of horror graced his face before he applied a polite smile.  
  
“Well hello Molly, nice to see you.”  
  
“J.J., Madeleine, I'd like you to meet Jack Overland.”  Hiccup introduced as Madeleine took Jack's hand.  
  
“How do you do.”  she greeted pleasantly.  
  
“A pleasure.”  Jack returned with a warm smile.  
  
“Hello, Jack.”  Astor shook the American's hand, glad for the distraction from Molly.  “Are you of the Boston Overlands?”  
  
“No, the Burgess Overlands, actually.”  
  
“Oh yes.”  The millionaire nodded.

 

> **_He must've been nervous, but he never faltered.  They assumed he was one of them, heir to a rail road fortune perhaps.  “New money” obviously, but still a member of the club.  Pitchiner of course, could always be counted upon._ **

  
“Tell us of the accommodations in steerage Mr. Overland, I hear they're quite good on this ship.”  
  
The question caught Jack by surprise for a moment, but he was not going to let himself get ruffled.  
  
“The best that I have seen, Sir.  Hardly any rats.”  the gathered passengers at the table laughed heartily.  Joining Jack and Pitchiner were Hiccup, Stoick, Molly, Thomas Andrews, the Duff-Gordons, Colonel Gracie, Guggenheim and his mistress, Bruce Ismay and the Countess of Rothes.  
  
“Mr. Overland is joining us from the Third Class.”  Stoick elaborated.  “He was of some assistance to my son last night.”  
  
“It turns out that Mr. Overland is quite a fine artist.”  the younger Scotsman interjected, not liking the direction the conversation was going.  “He was kind enough to show me some of his work today.”  Hiccup made his best effort at a discreet sign for Jack to lay out his napkin as a small company of waiters began to serve the diners at the table.  The young American glanced down at the wide assortment of mirror-bright cutlery assembled either side of his White Star Line-emblazoned china, a man once again lost at sea.  
  
“Are these all for me?”  he whispered incredulously to Molly.  
  
“Just start from the outside and work your way in.”  she replied quietly.  
  
“-he knows ever rivet in her, don't you, Thomas?”  
  
“Indeed.”  Andrews nodded politely at Ismay's praise.  
  
“Your ship is a wonder, Mr. Andrews, truly.”  Hiccup agreed.  
  
“Thank you, Hamish.”  a waiter appeared at Jack's left, depositing caviar on the Countess's plate.  
  
“And how do you take your caviar, Sir?”  the bespectacled man asked.  
  
“No caviar for me, thanks.  I never did like it much.”  Hiccup smirked at the artist's response.  
  
“And where exactly do you live, Mr. Overland?”  Pitchiner's question was laden with subtext.  If Jack had hoped for an easy ride, the Englishman was not going to give it to him.  
  
“Well, right now my address is the R.M.S. _Titanic_.  After that I'm on God's good humour.”  
  
Pitchiner wasn't impressed.  “And how is it that you have means to travel?”  
  
“I work my way from place to place, you know... Tramp steamers and such.  But I won my ticket on _Titanic_ here in a lucky game at poker, a very lucky hand.”  the majority of the table was hanging on his every word.  
  
“All life is a game of luck!”  Gracie agreed.  
  
“A man makes his own luck, Archie.”  Stoick disagreed, taking a sip from his glass of champagne.  “Right, Overland?”  Jack nodded in acquiesce.  
  
“And you find that rootless existence appealing, do you?”  Pitchiner was like a dog with a bone.  Molly raised an eyebrow in annoyance at the man's uncivilised questioning.  
  
The artist considered his answer carefully.  “Well yes Sir, I do.  I mean, I've got everything I need right here with me.  I've got air in my lungs...”  he tapped the front of his borrowed jacket.  “...and a few blank sheets of paper.  I mean, I like waking up in the morning not knowing what's going to happen... or who I'm going to meet.”  he spared a glance at Hiccup, who looked back at him, listening intently.  “Or where I'm going to wind up.  Just the other night I was sleeping under a bridge, and now... here I am on the grandest ship in the world drinking champagne with you fine people.”  he held his glass up for the waiter to refill it, polite laugher reverberating around the table.  “I figure life's a gift, and I don't intend on wasting it.  You never know what hand you're going to get dealt next.”  
  
Across  the table from him, Pitchiner had popped a cigarette in his mouth and was in the process of looking for something in his jacket to light it.  
  
“You'll learn to take life as it comes at you.”  Jack extracted a box of matches from his pocket.  “Here you go, Pitch!”  he sent the small box hurtling through the air to the Englishman, who caught it.  The annoyance on Pitchiner's face was very rewarding.  “To make each day count.”  Jack concluded.  
  
“Well said, Jack.”  Molly approved.  
  
“Here, here!”  Gracie agreed.  
  
Hiccup raised his glass in salute.  “To making it count.”  he smiled.  
  
“To make it count!”  the rest of the table joined in.  Jack smiled broadly, elated and amused.  


* * *

  
The classical music of Wallace Hartley's orchestra strained to compete with the rounds of laughter as Molly's story continued to unfold.  
  
“-but Mr. Brown had no idea I'd hidden the money in the stove!  So he comes home drunk as a pig celebrating and he lights a fire!”  the storyteller and the table shared in another heartfelt laugh as waiters pushed around dessert trolleys to the other First Class passengers.  
  
“Next it'll be brandies in the Smoking Room.”  Hiccup whispered to Jack, the American nodded as the conversation at the table wound down.  
  
“Well... join me in a brandy, gentlemen?”  Colonel Gracie asked, standing from his chair.  The majority of the men at the table made sounds of agreement.  
  
“Now they'll retreat into a cloud of smoke and congratulate each other on being 'masters of the universe'.”  Hiccup's whisper was dripping with sarcasm.  
  
“Ladies, thank you for the pleasure of your company.”  Ismay smiled, glancing around at the female passengers who remained seated at the table.  
  
“Will you be joining us, Hamish?”  Stoick asked, looming over his son.  
  
“I think I'll go back to the cabin, I think something I ate might be disagreeing with me.”  Hiccup lied.  
  
“Here you go, Molly.”  Jack whispered as he rose from his seat, passing an expensive pen back to her which she secreted back into her purse.  
  
“Joining us, Overland?”  Gracie enquired.  “Well, you don't want to stay out here with the women, do you?”  he laughed.  
  
“No thanks.”  Jack shook his head, offering a polite apology.  “I've got to be heading back.”  
  
“Ah!”  Gracie nodded, and turned away.  
  
“Probably best.  It'll be all business and politics, that sort of thing.  Wouldn't interest you.”  Pitchiner mused, his smile oily, which made Jack's skin crawl.  As he walked away he called back.  “Oh, and Overland... good of you to come.”  he tossed the box of matches back to Jack who caught it easily.  
  
“Jack, must you go?”  Hiccup enquired, looking eager for more conversations with a kindred spirit.  
  
“Time for me to go row with the other slaves.”  he responded sagely, to the young Scotsman's amusement.  “Good night, Mr. Haddock.”  he offered out his hand and Hiccup shook it.  As Jack walked away Hiccup was confused by the presence of a folded sheet of paper that had been left behind.  He stood from the table and bid the remaining diners farewell before he departed the saloon.  Pausing at the foot of the Grand Staircase, he retrieved the paper and unfolded it to reveal a message.  
  
Written neatly across it in Jack's hand were the words: _Make it count, meet me at the clock._  


* * *

  
Something had fluttered in Hiccup at Jack's invitation to a clandestine meeting, and he wasn't sure exactly what it was.  Despite his confusion he didn't let it stop him, and very soon he found himself on the A-Deck landing of the staircase, just as the clock began to toll nine in the evening.  Taking a breath, he ascended the steps to the mezzanine which was where Jack was stood, with his back to the Scotsman.  At the sound of Hiccup's approach the American turned and smiled, an impish look on his face.  
  
“You fancy going to a real party?”  


* * *

  
The air was thick with music, smoke, the smell of beer and perspiration.  Hiccup was back in the Third Class General Room, which was now crowded with passengers from steerage.  
  
The music was less elegant, and more tribal in sound, but with a pleasant mixture of instruments that was as varied as the passengers who played them.  It created a happy buzz which the men, women and children happily settled into and set the tone for the evening.  
  
The Scotsman had initially felt a bit uncomfortable amongst the throng, but as the time passed he was finding himself more and more relaxed with their company.  At one moment, he was watching Jack's friend Fabrizio dance with a blonde woman, an attractive girl who he'd learned was named Helga.  The next moment, he was watching as Jack danced with a little girl name Cora, who was travelling with her parents from Manchester.  
  
One of Jack's cabin-mates, a Swede, tried to converse with Hiccup, but the language barrier stunted any progress they might've made.  As he the Swede tried in vain, Jack's friend Tommy appeared, carrying four pint glasses of stout.  The young Scotsman gladly and gratefully took the glass, downing the dark liquid as he once again returned his attention to the artist.  In an effort to make things easier and less oppressive, the American had shed his borrowed jacket, waistcoat and tie, and had unbuttoned the removable collar of the shirt he wore.  The exertions of his dancing had caused several chestnut-coloured locks of hair to have fallen loose, giving him a wild and roguish appearance.  With shirt sleeves rolled up, Jack Overland seemed to be straddling the two worlds of first and Third Class with ease.  
  
Hiccup for his effort had hung his coat on the back of his chair and loosened his tie, which draped around his neck.  
  
The sudden crash from a table caught the young Scotsman's attention, and he witnessed a man fall to the deck.  Anticipating a fight, he was pleasantly surprised when the man was helped up by jovial men, one of whom then handed him another pint.  The bizarre and relaxed exchange made Hiccup burst out in unexpected laughter, and as the current song ended he turned back to watch his friend.  
  
“I'm gonna dance with him now, alright?”  Jack explained to the little girl as a new, faster-paced piece of music began.  “C'mon, we're going to have a little fun.”  he waved a outstretched hand at Hiccup, who blanched.  
  
“What?”  the younger Haddock asked, confused, only to be answered by Jack's hand snaking around his.  The strong grip pulled Hiccup to his feet and towards where the other passengers were dancing.  “Jack, wait!”  Hiccup looked like he was going to keel over from shock.  “We can't do this!”  he quietly protested.  
  
“We'll have to get a little bit closer.”  Jack smiled.  A small gasp escaped Hiccup as he felt the American's hand on the small of his back, pushing them together.  A feeling of discomfort passed through the Scotsman at being so close to Jack, despite their being on good terms with each other.  He looked up nervously at Jack as the American took Hiccup's right hand in his left.  As he readied himself, Jack glanced down to his left, back at his previous dance partner.  “You're still my best girl, Cora!”  
  
The explanation seemed to satisfy her, and she watched as the American prepared to lead the two young men.  
  
“I don't know the steps!”  Hiccup admitted urgently, nervously glancing around at the faces in the crowd.  
  
“Neither do I!  Just go with it... don't think!”  Jack instructed as they began to circle, hoping from one foot to the next.  The movement picked up as they began to circle the other dancing couples, and despite his anxiety, Hiccup let out a nervous laugh.  
The two of them swung in wide arcs as the rhythm of the music caused them to get carried away, lost in the moment, the motion and the elation.  The sight of Fabrizio and Helga climbing up onto the raised platform in the General Room caught Jack's attention, and he led a protesting Hiccup up.  The two young men clambered onto the platform, and ducking past the Italian and Nordic girl, found their own spot amongst the dancers.  Standing beside Hiccup, Jack began to tap the toes of his shoes in a jig whilst he placed his hands nonchalantly in his pockets.  The Scotsman watched, amused, trying to study the pattern.  The temptation had become too much for him, and Hiccup joined in, doing his best as the two men danced side-by-side.  
Encouraged and challenged by his dance-partner, Jack clapped his hands and tried out something a bit more advanced.  The auburn-headed lad gave him a determined grin and rose to the challenge, producing his own elaborate foot play.  
  
Hiccup's grin grew into a smile when Jack hooked an arm through his and they both began to swing, the room and people around them turning into a blur as they moved.  As they swung they released each other, only to grasp the other's hands as they maintained the the momentum of the swing.  Facing each other, wide smiles on their faces and their hearts beating wildly, they were now fully lost in the moment and in each other.  
  
“Waaaaagghh!”  Jack cheered as Hiccup closed his eyes and let out a loud laugh.  


* * *

  
The glisten of sweat had quickly vanished as soon as Jack and Hiccup had arrived at the Boat Deck, but their exertions and the alcohol they'd both drank still provided more than enough insulation between them and the cold April air.  At such a late hour the deck was nearly deserted, the only other people there were crewmen who were preparing the area for the passengers in the morning.  
  
“♫Come Josephine♪-”  
  
“-♪In my flying machine♫.”  Hiccup joined in, their voices bringing brief choral tones to the open space.  “'And it's up she goes, up she goes.'”  
  
“♫Balancing♪-”  Jack tried to remember the next verse.  
  
“♪Something♫-”  the Scotsman lost track.  
  
“♪On a bird on a beam in the air she goes♫.”  
  
“♫Where?♪”  Hiccup cheerfully shouted.  
  
“♪There!♫”  
  
“♫There she goes!♪”  
  
“♪Up!  Up!  A little bit higher, oh may!'”  they both sang.  “'The moon is on fire!♫”  
The entrance to the Grand Staircase loomed into view, causing Hiccup to trail off from his singing.  He turned back, his tussled hair caught in the breeze.  He extracted Jack's dinner jacket from his own, and with a warm but slightly strained smile, handed it to the American.  
  
“Here we are.”  a bitter note underscored his voice.  
  
“Right.”  Jack nodded, reluctance in his own.  
  
“I don't want to go back.”  Hiccup admitted, glancing away from Jack's eyes for a moment.  The unusual feeling he'd had after dinner was in the pit of his stomach again.  He glanced up at the field of stars above them, visible despite the remaining deck lights that burned.  “Look!”  
  
“Yeah!”  Jack exhaled, in awe.  Hiccup led the way over the the bulwark, swinging on one of the funnel stays.  
  
“So vast, and endless.”  the auburn-headed lad was caught in the distraction.  “They're so small, my crowd.  They think they're giants... They're not even dust in God's eye.”  
  
“You know, there's been a mistake.  You're not one of them.”  Jack mused.  “You got mailed to the wrong address.”  
  
Hiccup laughed.  “I did, didn't I?”  he glanced up at the sky over the starboard-side of the ship.  “Look!”  he cried, and the American looked up in time to see something burning through the sky, leaving a trail.  “A shooting star.”  
  
“That was a long one!”  Jack was enthralled.  “Y'know, my Pops used to tell me every time you saw one it was a soul going to Heaven.”  
  
Hiccup mulled over Jack's words.  “I like that.  Are we supposed to wish on it?”  he asked.  
  
The artist considered the question, before asking his own: “Why?  What would you wish for?”  
  
“Something I can't have.”  the words were out of Hiccup's mouth before he'd fully realised he'd said them, and even in that moment he wasn't fully certain what they alluded to.  He could tell from the expression on Jack's face that the American was pondering the same thing.  An awkward silence fell between the two of them.  Something had changed, and Hiccup felt the sudden need for some time to himself, time to collect his thoughts when they weren't influenced by drink or by dancing.  
  
Offering a polite smile, Hiccup wished Jack good night.  
  
Overland pivoted and watched the Scotsman as he passed through the entrance to the staircase and vanished from sight.  Part of Jack had wanted to follow, to ask Hiccup what he'd meant, but something in him made him stop, thinking better of it.  
  
Feeling downtrodden, Jack turned and began to walk back to his cabin.


	6. Last light

**April 14th, 1912  
**

  
It had come as a relief to Hiccup that he'd arrived back before Stoick, Pitchiner or his father's valet, ensuring that his cover story had remained intact.  His peaceful slumber allowed him to sleep off the drink in his system, but the effects of his conversation with Jack were harder to put aside.  Thoughts of their last words together preoccupied the young Scotsman all through breakfast and as he dressed for Sunday Church service in the Dining Saloon.  
Warm light flooded Hiccup's cabin via the pair of portholes, brightening the space that was dominated with dark panelling and equally dark red and gold flock wallpaper.  
  
A curt knock at the door roused him from his contemplation, and it opened to emit Stoick.  The large man quietly closed it behind him and turned the lock to avoid intrusion.  
  
“You were quieter than usual at breakfast, is something wrong?”  his father asked with genuine concern.  
  
“I didn't have a very restful night, probably to do with how I was feeling after Dinner.  I'm feeling better now.”  Hiccup lied as he buttoned up his waistcoat.  
  
“I'm glad to hear that.”  the elder Scotsman nodded.  “Although I wouldn't be surprised if all that running about with that boy from steerage had given you an uneasy stomach, if not something else.”  the younger man's shoulders involuntarily stiffened.  “Please give me my due Hamish, you've hardly been discreet.”  
  
Hiccup bristled, but remained silent.  
  
“I think it's time you stopped fraternising with that boy, now.  Some of the other passengers are beginning to talk.”  
  
“And we wouldn't want that.”  the younger Haddock responded sardonically as he looped his neck tie around his collar.  He was just about to start tying it when his father turned him around so that they were facing each other.  
  
“I'm serious, Hamish.”  Stoick took each loose end of the tie and began to loop them through an extravagant knot.  After a moment the older man emitted a sigh.  
“A man's reputation is sometimes the most valuable currency he has in the world.  A man can spend an entire lifetime working on his reputation, and all that's needed to send it to ruin is one mistake, one choice piece of gossip.”  Hiccup's frustration grew, he wished his father would simply come out with it.  “You're becoming an adult now, and because of that it's time to take on adult responsibilities... not childish pursuits.”  
  
“'Childish pursuits?'”  Hiccup asked, exasperated.  “I've never known you to be this coy.”  
  
The elder Haddock's grip tightened on the ends of Hiccup's tie, pausing again to consider his words carefully.  
  
“Very well.  When the _Titanic_ docks in New York on Tuesday... as is the current subject of gossip, what do you want to see as the headline on all the newspapers?  That the ship has arrived early...”  he paused.  “Or, that the heir to one of the most successful steel companies in world has been caught in the embrace of another man?”  
  
Despite his best efforts, Hiccup's pulse raced and his cheeks became flushed.  
  
“He's just a friend.”  the younger Scotsman attempted to deflect.  
  
“You could at least try not to look like a naughty school boy who's been caught when you lie to me.”  Stoick glowered as he finished Hiccup's tie.  “I've seen the way you look at him, and the way he looks at you.”  the air between the two Scotsmen had quickly become unbearable, the younger man had never felt more awkward in the presence of his father.  “I've tried to be patient and understand this... this!”  he gestured at his son.  
  
“You just gestured to all of me.”  the younger Scotsman rolled his eyes.  
  
Stoick sighed.  “I may not have the words for it, but that doesn't mean I don't have a valid concern.  Do you remember why we're going to America?”    
  
“Of course I do!”  Hiccup protested, louder than he'd meant.  “You remind me almost every day.”    
  
“A good and loving wife will help with this... confusion... you're feeling.”  his father swept his large hands down Hiccup's shoulders, eradicating imperceptible dust on the lad's waistcoat.  Hiccup then turned and the older Scotsman helped him into his suit jacket.  Fully dressed, he turned back to face Stoick, who smiled and nodded approvingly.  “I know I sound unfair, but I really do mean the best for you.”  his expression softened to something that resembled a plea, something Hiccup had almost never seen.  “Please, don't see that boy again.”  the younger man looked away at the floor, offering only a single silent nod as his response.  


* * *

  
As Jack descended the Grand Staircase, he paused at the mezzanine level above D-Deck, having noticed the approach of Thomas Andrews.  The shipbuilder was studiously jotting down his notes for improvements to the ship.  
  
“Hello, Mr. Andrews!”  
  
“Hello, Jack!”  Andrews smiled warmly, before returning to his work.  The American stepped down past the large candelabra at the base of the staircase, making his way towards the Dining Saloon.  From within, a stirring chorus of _Eternal Father, Strong to Save_ echoed into the Reception Room.  
  
As Jack approached he noticed two stewards positioned at the swing doors, as soon as they spotted him the more senior crewman stepped forward urgently.  
  
“Sir?  Sir!”  the steward moved to block Jack's entry.  
  
“I just need to see somebody for a second.”  
  
“You're not supposed to be in here.”  
  
“I just need to speak to someone!”  Jack protested, becoming frustrated.  From within the saloon, Lovejoy approached, his face as grim as ever.  “I was just here last night, you don't remember me?”  
  
“No, I'm afraid I don't.  Now you're going to have to turn around-”  
  
“He'll tell you.”  Jack interrupted, indicating Lovejoy as the tall man pushed through the doors.  “I just...  I just need-”.  
  
“Mr. Haddock senior and Mr. Haddock the younger continue to be appreciative of your assistance.”  Lovejoy flashed Jack an insincere smile as he spoke.  “They asked me to uh... give you this, in gratitude.”  Lovejoy reached into his pocket and held out several gold sovereigns.  
  
“I don't want your money, please.  I just have...”  
  
“Also to remind you that you hold a Third Class ticket and that your presence here is... No longer appropriate.”  
  
“Please, I just want to speak to Hamish for one second-”  
  
“Gentlemen...”  the valet paused, ensuring his voice was louder than Jack's.  “...please see that Mr. Overland gets back to where he belongs?”  he separated the coins into two piles, handing one pile to each of the stewards.  “And that he stays there.”  
  
“Yes Sir!”  the senior crewman replied, pocketing the money.  He then placed a firm hand on Jack's arm and spun him around.  “Come along, you.”  
With the help of the other steward they led Jack back to the nearest Third Class entrance.  


* * *

  
Following the church service, Hiccup, Stoick, Pitchiner and a few other First Class passengers were invited on a personal tour of the ship by Thomas Andrews.  Their first stop had been the ship's Gymnasium, where they'd been given a short lecture on the facilities available by the ship's on-board instructor, T.W. McCawley, a robust man in his mid-thirties with a bristly moustache and dressed as if he were about ready to play a game of Cricket, complete with white jumper.  After the Gymnasium, the tour had strolled forward to the Bridge.  
  
“Excuse me sir, another ice warning.  This one's from the _Noordam_.”  Harold Bride, a man in his early twenties with neat brown hair and one of the ship's wireless operators, explained as he handed a slip of paper to Captain Smith.  
  
“Thank you, Sparks.”  Smith nodded, studying the warning.  Upon seeing the raised eyebrow on Hiccup's face he adopted a beaming smile.  “Oh, not to worry!”  he waved the warning dismissively.  “Quite normal for this time of year.  In fact, we're speeding up.  I've just ordered the last boilers lit.”  


* * *

  
Jack Overland was nothing if not a man of determination.  After being escorted back to Third Class he'd conspired with Tommy and Fabrizio to sneak back into first.  The two had been reluctant, but Jack was beyond dissuading.  Positioned by one of the cargo hatches in the aft Well Deck, beneath one of the cranes on A-Deck, they hoisted the American up and he grabbed onto the railing.  Peering over the edge of the deck he checked to see if there was anybody nearby.  
  
There were a few passengers clustered on the aft portion of the port-side A-Deck promenade, but they had their backs turned to him.  Seeing his chance, he pulled himself up using the barrier and slipped silently into First Class, scooping up an unattended overcoat and hat as he went.  Walking towards the bow, Jack slicked his hair back and pulled on the coat.  


* * *

  
Thomas Andrews' tour group began to stroll aft of the Bridge, passing by the collection of four lifeboats which were assembled at the forward section of the starboard Boat Deck.  Three of the boats were cradled by their davits whilst the fourth, the closest to the Bridge Cab was permanently swung out in case anybody went overboard.  
  
“Mr. Andrews.”  Hiccup called out, attracting the shipbuilder's attention.  “I did the sum in my head... and with the number of lifeboats times the capacity you mentioned... forgive me, but... it seems that there aren't enough for everybody aboard.”  
  
“But half, actually.”  Andrews smiled reassuringly.  “Master Haddock, you miss nothing, do you?”  he was impressed.  “In fact I put in these new type davits, which can take an extra row of boats inside this one.”  he indicated the placement with his hands.  “But it was thought... by some... that the deck would look too cluttered.”  the shipbuilder admitted, disappointment in his voice and face.  “So I was overruled.”  
  
“A waste of deck space as it is on an unsinkable ship!”  Pitchiner admonished, slapping the side of one of the boats with his cane.  He proceeded on with Stoick, talking further about the ship's features as Hiccup and Andrews trailed behind.  
  
“Sleep soundly, Master Haddock!”  Andrews' cheerful temperament returned.  “I have built you a good ship, strong and true.  She's all the lifeboats you need.”  he quickened his pace to return to leading the tour.  “Just keep heading aft, the next stop will be the Engine Room!”  
  
Hiccup began to follow, but was soon tapped on the shoulder by a man in a coat and hat.  A quick wave to the man's face revealed that it was Jack, and with a furtive glance back towards his father, the young Scotsman was led into the now empty Gymnasium.  
  
The Gymnasium was painted predominantly in gloss white, with the woodwork from the floor to hip level treated in a dark brown.  Enamel tiles lined the floor and arched windows similar to those of the Grand Staircase, except featuring pebbled glass, flooded the room with bright sunlight.  
A selection of exercise equipment including an mechanical horse, a mechanical camel, a rowing machine, two stationary bicycles and a punch bag were fitted around the room.  
The wall adjacent to the casing for the ship's second funnel was dominated by a large chart showing a deck plan for the _Titanic_ and _Olympic_ , as well as a map of the White Star Line's trade routes.  
  
“Jack!”  Hiccup protested, his father's warning jumping to the forefront of his mind.  “This is impossible.  I can't see you.”  he made a motion to leave, but the American grabbed him, causing the auburn-headed young man to pause by one of the arched windows.  
  
“I need to talk to you!”  the artist insisted, taking off his hat.  
  
“I can't...”  Hiccup trailed off, trying to find the words he hoped would dissuade his friend.  “I'm... I'm supposed to be using this voyage to help establish my place in society, finding business to help improve my father's company for when I take it over, and to... to find a wife once we disembark.”  although he was trying his best, the explanation sounded hollow and unconvincing to both young men.  
  
“Hiccup... Hamish.”  Jack paused, using the Scotsman's official name for added weight.  “You can be a real spoiled brat at times... but despite that, there's something about you that's...”  he lost momentum, unable to put what he wanted to say into words.  “You're unlike anyone I've met before, I don't just mean for a First Class passenger I mean... I mean...”  he was becoming flustered with his inability to proceed.  
  
“Jack, I-”  Hiccup began, but the American moved him into the recess of the window, the light framing Hiccup's face and illuminating his reddish-brown hair.  
  
“No... let me try get this out!  You... you have...”  he sighed, he was getting nowhere.  
“Ever since I first saw you, there's been something I haven't been able to shake about you... and it's only gotten stronger since we started talking after you came and found me.  I'm not an idiot, I know how the world works.  I know that guys like us aren't supposed to have this sort of connection... but it's happened.  I think you've felt it too, even if you're telling yourself you haven't.”  the words poured out as he bared his soul.  “I know that compared to all this...”  he waved a hand out at their surroundings.  “I have nothing to offer you beyond what little money I have in my pocket and what I have in my sketching pad.  I'm too involved now to walk away without knowing if you'll be alright.”  he paused to breath in.  “That's all that I want.”  
  
“Well... I'm fine.  I'll be fine.”  Hiccup asserted, but still sounding uncertain.  
  
“Really?”  Jack asked, unconvinced.  “I know your Dad's got your cornered into looking for a wife in New York or wherever, and I know that she'll be rich and who has everything you've been told you'll need... but it's a lie.  It's a lie I'm terrified is going to snuff out that flame of yours that I like so much...”  Jack looked down, his hand caressing Hiccup's.  “...I don't want you forced to be somebody you aren't, not anymore.”  
  
Hiccup's expression had softened, and Jack could tell there was a lot going on inside the Scotsman's mind that he wasn't saying.  
  
“I'm going back, please leave me alone...”  Hiccup pulled away and stepped out onto the Boat Deck, leaving Jack to his thoughts, his disappointment and frustration.  


* * *

  
Hiccup descended the Grand Staircase to B-Deck with the intention to spend some time in his cabin and wait for his father to return from the tour.  He desperately hoped that some reading alone would take his mind off of Jack's heart-felt confession.  
  
As he stepped off the staircase he spotted a boy sat in one chairs with a man who was likely the boy's father.  Both father and son were reading quietly, but the younger of the pair was sat slouched.  
Wordlessly, the man pushed his cane slowly but firmly against the lower portion of the boy's spine, forcing him to straighten up in posture.  The task completed, the elder reader removed the implement and returned to his book.  
  
An uncomfortable sense of familiarity enveloped the young Scotsman, striking too close to the bone.  He resumed his walk to his cabin, now with even more to think about.  


* * *

  
The wind tugged at Jack's hair as the sun set across the _Titanic_ 's port bow.  He'd been going back over the conversation with Hiccup in his head, wishing that he'd said things differently, and wishing that he'd just come out and said some things in particular.  The rush of the water eased his nerves and slowed his pulse to normal.  He didn't want to give up, but he didn't know what to do next... if there was anything he could do.  
When he'd first arrived the sun had been high in the sky, and now it cast a red-orange glow over everything.  
  
_I make a mess of everything_.  The artist reflected gloomily.  
  
“Hello, Jack.”  the accented voice was unexpected, and he whirled around to make sure it wasn't his imagination.  Hiccup was stood there, his hands in his pockets of his trousers, his face a portrait of uncertainty.  The American, for his effort was equally hesitant, unsure of what to make of this unexpected... but not unpleasant development.  
Finally the Scotsman smiled.  “I changed my mind.”  
A smile crept onto Jack's face as relief flooded through his body.  Taking the smile as a good sign, Hiccup approached, passing the anchor crane to join his friend at the point of the bow.  “They said you might be up here...”  he was interrupted as Jack pressed a finger to the younger man's lips.  
  
“Sssshh.”  the artist instructed.  “Give me your hand.”  Jack leant forward, softly grasping the Scotsman's left hand with his right.  The American pulled his friend closer, their eyes locking for a moment.  “Now close your eyes.  Go on.”  curious but encouraged, Hiccup did as he was requested.  A moment after his vision darkened, he felt Jack's free hand at his lower back, gently pushing him forward.  “Now step up, and hold onto the railing.”  
The American helped guide the auburn-headed lad onto the plating above the bow anchor and up to the curved rail. “Keep your eyes closed, don't peek.”  
  
“I won't”  Hiccup promised.  
  
“Step up onto the rail.”  Jack whispered, and the Scotsman lifted his right foot up and placed his shoe on the metal rung.  With both hands now holding his companion's waist, Jack helped lift him up, Hiccup instinctively putting his left foot on the opposite side of the railing.  He felt forwards with his hands, grabbing the top of the barrier for support and safety.  Behind him, the artist lifted himself up.  “Hold on, hold on... keep your eyes closed.”  Hiccup laughed, despite his precarious position.  “Do you trust me?”  Jack asked softly.  
  
“I trust you.”  Hiccup stated, his voice calm and certain.  In response, the American took each of the Scotsman's hands in his own, and delicately stretched his companion's arms out until they were fully extended.  
Once he had finished positioning Hiccup's arms, Jack placed his right hand across Hiccup's stomach and his left hand on the younger man's hip.  “Alright... open your eyes.”  he instructed softly into Hiccup's ear.  Excited, the younger man gingerly opened his eyes, taking in the view before him.  
  
He let out a loud intake of breath.  The railing was beneath his field of vision, and the rigging running up to the forward mast was behind him, his view of the approaching ocean was unobstructed, and it created the illusion that they were soaring, alone.  
  
“Heavens...”  Hiccup breathed, unable to think of anything more.  His heart thudded in his chest at the exhilaration of the experience.  Jack ran his hands back out to encompass the Scotsman's, joining him fully in the moment.  The American's mood completely turned around, he began to sing.  
  
“♪Come Josephine...♫”  Hiccup laughed.  “♫... in my flying machine, going up she goes... up she goes...♪”  a sensation like a pleasant electric shock danced across the flesh of Hiccup's hands as Jack's brushed against them.  All that he'd been taught told him that he shouldn't be enjoying such feelings, not from a man, and yet in that moment he felt more comfortable and at ease than he had in a very long time.  Letting his guard down during the party in steerage had helped him build up to this moment.  
  
The American's head was nuzzled close against Hiccup's shoulder.  The Scotsman's head was tilted a little to the right, where he could feel the warm tickle of Jack's breath.  Instinctively, Hiccup brought his arms in, gently bringing Jack's with them into a hug.  He turned his head further, his face such a tiny distance from Jack's, the closest they'd gotten since they'd met.  They looked each other in the eyes, studying them, searching for what they were saying.  
  
Hiccup's heart was racing, and not that he knew it, so was Jack's.  
  
The American leaned forward a bit more, and with a moment's hesitation, Hiccup leaned in.  Their lips touched, and they began to kiss.  They were both now thoroughly enveloped in the moment.  The ship, Hiccup's father, Jack's friends, the other passengers in steerage and in First Class were a care momentarily forgotten, their world at that instant comprised only of themselves, the sunset painted sky and the ocean beneath them.  Hiccup reached back, cupping Jack's neck as they continued their embrace, their passion unseen by any other living soul.


	7. Drawn to ice

“That was the last time _Titanic_ ever saw daylight”.  
  
Lizzy sat back in her chair, letting out a breath of amazement as she did.  The account had taken much longer than either of them had expected, and what had been early afternoon had now shifted into evening.  
  
“Sunset of the night of the sinking.”  Hiccup's granddaughter mulled over what she'd been told.  She stood up, taking the opportunity to stretch before checking and pausing the recorder.  Without a further word she prepared a quick meal for herself, her grandfather and for Toothless, before she resumed her place, ready to continue.  Refreshed, Hiccup nodded for Lizzy to restart the recorder, and he resumed his testimony.

* * *

  
Hiccup was still riding the high of emotion from kissing Jack whilst stood at the _Titanic_ 's bow rail when he unlocked the door to Parlour Suite B-52-54-56.  
  
“-it's quite proper, I assure you.”  he smiled as the two stepped inside and he closed the door behind them.  “This is the Sitting Room.”  Jack was almost aghast at the luxury of the space.  “Will this light do?”  
  
“What?”  the American asked distractedly as he looked at the fireplace and mantel.  
  
“Don't artists need good light?”  the Scotsman enquired.  
  
“Zat is true, but I am not used to working in such 'oreeble conditions.”  Jack responded in a mock French accent, running his finger snobbishly across the mantelpiece before turning to Hiccup, making the young man laugh.  Once he regained his composure he walked towards the door to B-54, motioning for Jack to follow him.  
  
“Come, there's something I want to show you.”  the American watched as his companion walked towards the aft end of B-54, entering a walk-in wardrobe which housed a green safe.  Jack heard the well oiled movement of the safe dial and the loud _clank_ of the handle releasing, giving Hiccup entry to the contents inside.  “Father insists in carting this hideous thing around during our journey.”  he elaborated.  
  
“Should we be expecting him any time soon?”  
  
“Not as long as the cigars and brandy hold out.”  Hiccup exited the wardrobe, setting a velvet box down.  Jack noticed the shimmer of something silver dangling from the lad's hand as he crossed back towards the artist, handing the necklace to him.  The American was suitably overwhelmed by the blue diamond and the setting it sat in, letting out a loud exhale.  
  
“That's nice, what is it... a sapphire?”  he enquired, holding it up to the light.  
  
“A diamond.”  Hiccup corrected.  “A very rare diamond.”  Jack shook his head, marvelling... and a little disgusted at the expensive bauble.  
  
“My father bought it intending for me to give it to the girl I ended up meeting in America, as an engagement gift...”  he trailed off, a knowing smile appearing on his face.  Something daring inside of the young Scotsman took hold as a playful idea began to form.  He looked up at Jack, who seemed entranced by the necklace.  “I know that you said you wanted to draw me, well... I have one request.”  
  
“Okay.”  the artist nodded.  
  
“I'd like you to draw me... like one of your French girls.”  
  
Jack's head turned suddenly from the jewellery, surprised at the Scotsman's request.  He silently wondered where the nervous, reserved young man he'd first met had gone.

* * *

  
Overland passed the time as he waited for Hiccup by rearranging the furniture in the Sitting Room.  He'd set the table and all but one of the chairs to one side and was now in the process of dragging and positioning the _chaise longue_ so that it was near the fire.  The piece of furniture in place, he moved the cushions about, placing most of them at one end.  With the rearrangement meeting his approval, he sat down in the remaining chair which faced the _chaise longue_ and rolled out his drawing tools.  He extracted a simple folding knife and a conte crayon from the fabric embrace of his pouch and used the blade to sharpen the end of the crayon.  To his left, the door to B-54 opened quietly and Hiccup appeared, clad only in his dressing gown.  
  
“It'll be a nice change, having a portrait of me where I don't look like I'm attending a funeral.”  the American smirked at the mental image that formed in his head.  The Scotsman approached, a hand outstretched.  “As a paying client, I expect to get what I want.”  he placed a gold sovereign in Jack's hand, more than the artist would have ever charged.  
  
The commission paid, the Scotsman took a few steps backward, and tugged at the dressing gown's belt.  He hesitated only a moment, before parting the folds and letting it drop around his ankles.  Jack's composure temporarily abandoned him, his awkwardness written across his face and body language.  
  
Hiccup was very light in build, this was something Jack had already observed simply by comparing him to his father.  However, Overland could now see that despite the young man's limber extremities, there was muscle definition in his arms and legs, suggesting that he might have a bit more meat on his bones once a little older.  A light dusting of freckles ran up Hiccup's arms and across his shoulders and chest, as well as around his waist and down his legs.  For a young man of Hiccup's build and proportions... he was appropriately endowed.  Jack shifted awkwardly, his body responding to what he was seeing in a way that threatened to distract him from his drawing.  
  
“Over on the bed... the couch.”  he corrected, nervous.  Hiccup acquiesced, moving over to sit on the _chaise longue_. “Lie down.”  Jack gently instructed, and his muse laid his head against the cushions at the left end whilst his feet rested at the right.  The Scotsman adjusted himself as he found the most comfortable pose, temporarily raising both arms and draping them against the cushion and back of the piece of furniture, before he shifted them again.  
  
“Yeah-”  
  
“Tell me when it looks right-”  
  
“Put your arm back the way it was.”  at the artist's instruction, Hiccup moved his left arm back so that it was draped above him.  “Right... and put that other arm up... that hand right by your face, there.”  Jack indicated what he meant to the younger man, and his subject did his best to copy the pose.  “Right... Now, head down... eyes to me, keep them on me.”  he pointed at his eyes as his companion performed the last minor adjustments. The artist positioned his pad on his knee, readying himself.  “...And try to stay still.”  Hiccup smiled, before clearing his throat.  As if in response, Jack exhaled loudly, and he began to draw.  
  
The Scotsman watched calmly as Jack went to work, he'd never seen his friend in his element before... and it was something to be seen.  A cloud of serene concentration formed on the American's handsome face, all of which excluding his eyes was now hidden behind the sketching pad.  The two brown orbs studied Hiccup intensely before darting briefly to the paper to capture what they'd seen.  The younger Haddock's heart thudded in his chest, but he did his best to stay calm and still.  As he lay there, the only sounds were the quiet movements beneath his ribs, the low thrum of the _Titanic_ 's engines, and the scratching of Jack's crayon across the paper.  After a while, the younger man felt the need to inject a little humour into the surroundings.  
  
“So serious.”  he mocked in a poor imitation of the artist's voice, a smile spread across Jack's face.  “I believe you are blushing, 'Mr. Big Artiste'.  I can't imagine _monsieur_ Monet blushing.”  
  
“He does landscapes.”  Jack chided, humour-filled eyes directed at his subject.  “Just relax your face.”  
  
“Sorry.”  Hiccup apologised, his cheeks reddening.  
  
“No laughing.”  at the artist's instruction, his subject exhaled, trying to keep his expression as the American desired.

* * *

 

 

> **_My heart was pounding the whole time.  It was the most erotic moment of my life... up until then at least.  As for what happened next... well, I'm afraid to disappoint, but Jack was very professional._ **

 

The portrait was complete.  A classical sketch, depicting a tasteful nude of Hamish Haddock the 3rd, reclined on a _chaise longue_.  Beneath the drawing, Jack scribbled down the date, April 14th 1912, and his initials.  

He dropped the dulled crayon beside the pile of sketches he'd removed from the pad and blew over the sheet, removing any lingering particles.  With Hiccup at his shoulder, he flipped the leather pad closed and handed it to his patron, his subject, his muse... his lover, who gently took it.  
  
“Thank you.”  Hiccup whispered, before planting a kiss on Jack's lips.  A short game of tug of war ensued between them, causing the artist's subject to chuckle.  With Jack not far behind, Hiccup returned to B-54 where he returned the necklace to its protective box, and then took a sheet of R.M.S. _Titanic_ headed stationary and began to write.  
  
“What're you doing?”  Jack asked, leaning on the back of the chair by the writing desk.  
  
“Will you put this back in the safe for me?”  the Scotsman handed the necklace box to the artist, who dutifully took it and placed it inside for safe keeping.  He stepped back and shook his head, not believing the amount of money which had also been casually left inside the safe.

* * *

  
Jack stood at one of the windows of the private Promenade Deck attached to the Parlour Suite, taking in what little there was to see in the moonless darkness.  His arms were crossed over his chest in an attempt to keep his hands warm, and as he crossed back over to the Sitting Room he rubbed them together, trying to generate heat.  Hiccup entered via the door to B-54, wearing one of his smart day suits.  For convenience and quickness he'd chosen not to dress in his evening wear.  
  
“It's getting cold.”  to emphasize, Jack blew into his cupped hands, he then gave Hiccup a longer look as he took in the ensemble.  “You look nice.”  
  
A knock at the door drew their attention, followed by Lovejoy's voice.  “Master Haddock?”  panic flashed on Hiccup's face as he quickly grabbed Jack's hand, pulling him through the door into his father's stateroom.  
  
“My drawings!”  the American protested as he was led away, the sounds of the Sitting Room door being unlocked and opened following them.  The Scotsman closed the door to B-56, wincing at how loud it sounded.  
  
Without a word Jack opened the door that led from Hiccup's stateroom out into the First Class corridor, the auburn-headed lad ducked out quickly, followed by the artist.  With speed, they walked back along the corridor towards the Grand Staircase.  They both recklessly looked back at the sound of a door being opened, and Lovejoy stepped out into the corridor.  At the sight of the man in tweed the two young men broke into a run, the valet quickly following after them.  
  
Hiccup led the way as they ran, taking the corner at the back of the staircase at speed.  The change in direction nearly sent Jack sprawling to the floor as his shoes slid on the tilework, only his hand in the Scotsman's ensuring he avoided a nasty fall.  
  
“Wait!  Wait!  Wait!”  Hiccup shouted as one of the lift operators prepared to leave the B-Deck landing.  Pushing the steel safety gate aside, he jumped into the lift with Jack ducking in after him.  Safely inside, the American pulled the gate across.  “Take us down, quickly!”  the Scotsman urged the operator, and the lift began to descend.  
Lovejoy pounded the gate in frustration at having just missed them, glowering at the two young men through the intricate scroll work.  
  
Feeling flushed from the run and from the narrow escape, Hiccup stuck up his middle finger at the valet, causing Jack to unsuccessfully stifle a laugh.  “Bye!”  he cheekily waved farewell as Lovejoy's face vanished from view.  
  
Taking the lift down to E-Deck, the two of them stumbled out, with Jack nearly knocking a steward off of his feet as they scrambled away.  They charged down a set of steps that led to F-Deck and spun when they reached the foot of the stairs, sending Jack into a wooden trolley laden with plates and silverware, almost overturning it.  With a quick apology offered to the surprised crewman pushing it, the American returned to his companion's side and they ducked through a doorway that led into a Third Class corridor.  With no sign of Lovejoy in sight, the two took the moment to catch their breath and let their laughter settle.  
  
“Pretty tough for a valet, this fella.”  Jack exclaimed, leaning against the wall.  “He seems more like a cop.”  
  
“I think he was.”  Hiccup smirked.  A horrified expression on Jack's face drew the younger man's attention and he looked through the glass porthole in the door.  Lovejoy had appeared on the landing, and now he was looking at them.  “Go!”  he pushed Jack into the run, putting ground between them and their pursuer.  The valet burst into the hallway behind them as they rounded a corner into a dead end.  
  
“No, over here!”  Jack shouted, leading Hiccup through a door, closing and locking it behind them just as the handle turned futilely from the other side.  
  
Hiccup braced his hands protectively over his ears, guarding them against the near-deafening noise which caused the room to vibrate.  He turned to see Jack, who studied their only option, a ladder that descended from the room into a smoky, flickering orange light.  
  
“Now what?!”  the younger man shouted to his companion.  Jack looked up, hands over his ears as well.  
  
“What?!”  the communication was comical, making Hiccup laugh despite the situation.  Jack descended the latter first, with his companion following.  Eventually reaching the bottom, the American jumped off and helped the Scotsman down from the ladder which had delivered them into one of the _Titanic_ 's colossal boiler rooms.  Ten of the ship's immense boilers dwarfed the space around them, their hatches open and spewing heat and light into the humid space which was stuffed with dirty, sweating, overworked stokers.  
  
As the two young men looked on, one of the senior stokers noticed them, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the coal dust-covered men.  
  
“Hold up?  What are you two doing down here?  You shouldn't be down here!”  the stoker's presence was more than enough reason to cause Jack and Hiccup to resume running.  “It could be dangerous... Oi!”  his voice trailed off as they ran, dodging the other stokers and barrows of coal that were brought to feed the greedy engines.  
  
“Carry on!  Don’t mind us, you're doing a great job!”  Jack shouted as they charged on.  “Keep up the good work!”  
  
They rounded a corner and ran parallel to the side of the ship, ducking through clouds of steam and smoke.  Their path vanished in a haze of emotion and labyrinthine passageways.

* * *

  
The heavy metal door opened with a _clunk_ , and Jack led the way into one of the ship's holds.  The room was filled with cargo of all types, stacked from floor to ceiling in some places, and held down with thick ropes.  The space was considerably cooler compared to the Boiler Room, and Hiccup shivered a little.  
  
His hand held by Jack's, the American led the way through the maze of crates until the artist paused, spotting the upper-half of an automobile in the distance.  
  
“Aha!  Look what we have here.”  he quickened his pace, approaching the vehicle.  It was a brand new 1912 Renault 35CV, with paint and metalwork that shone in the lights of the Hold.  Jack inspected the driver's compartment as Hiccup approached the passenger cabin.  The Scotsman turned to face his companion and playfully cleared his throat.  The artist looked up, and immediately began to play along, opening the door for Hiccup and holding out a hand to help him climb up inside.  
  
“Thank you.”  the young Scotsman nodded, adding a ridiculously posh uplift to his normal voice.  Jack shut the door behind him and walked over to the driver's seat, extravagantly unfurling the tails of his coat as he sat down and gripped the steering wheel.  He tilted his head up and struck a rigid pose in imitation of a chauffeur.  Behind him, Hiccup pushed down the dividing window that separated the two.  
  
The artist playfully squeezed the rubber bulb of the vehicle's horn, which honked loudly and echoed around them.  
  
“Where to, sir?”  he asked, adding a posh uplift of his own voice.  
  
“Wherever we want to go.”  Hiccup whispered, causing the artist to look back coyly at him.  The Scotsman reached forward and pulled Jack backwards into the Renault with him, where they tumbled onto the back seat.  Despite the cold they were still perspiring from the running, which in turn seemed to warm the air between and around them.  Jack casually placed an arm around Hiccup as they rested there, watching as his companion knitted the fingers of his left hand between those of artist's right.  They stared intently at each other for a few precious, silent moments, Hiccup daringly kissing Jack's fingers.  Giving the American a knowing look but without saying a word, the Scotsman placed his companion's hand on his inner thigh.  
Taking Hiccup's cue, Jack leant in and they began to kiss, sharing their intimacy with each other as the windows of the automobile began to fog up.


	8. Hard to starboard

Hiccup's hand shot up against the glass of the rear window, where it smeared the condensation in their moment of ecstasy.  Their bodies entwined, their clothes discarded and their flesh clammy and flushed, Hiccup and Jack relaxed; a temporary peace from the thrill of the chase, the rush of danger and the height of passion.  His body on top of Hiccup's, Jack did his best to subdue the involuntary shaking that rocked his frame.  
  
“You're trembling.”  Hiccup whispered as he caressed his lover's face.  
  
“Don't worry, I'll be alright.”  he shared a kiss with his companion, before resting his head against the Scotsman's chest, enjoying the comforting sound and nearness of his lover's heartbeat.  


* * *

  
They'd quickly hidden behind some of the cargo crates upon hearing voices approaching from the passage back to the Boiler Room.  Two stewards, complete with electric torches entered the hold and trained the beams from the lanterns across the contents of the space, looking for Jack and Hiccup.  
The two crewmen neared the Renault, and the lighter-haired of the two spotted something that caught his attention.  The steward clicked his fingers and motioned towards the automobile.  They crept up to the door of the vehicle, ready to pounce.  
  
“Gotcha!”  the steward shouted, his voice reverberating off the metal walls.  Jack and Hiccup covered their mouths to stifle their laughter, the faces of the crewmen were a picture.  


* * *

  
The trans-Atlantic lovers clambered up the stairways and traversed more passengers until they stumbled out of a doorway onto the forward Well Deck, the night air hitting them as they quickly spun, no longer able to contain their amusement.  
  
“Did you see those guys' faces?”  Jack asked between laughs.  “Did you see them?”  Hiccup placed a hand on Jack's mouth, ceasing the artist's speech.  He looked at his lover affectionately, a plan forming in his head.  
  
“When the ship docks... I'm getting off with you.”  
  
“This is crazy.”  Jack insisted, but offering little resistance to the idea.  
  
“I know!  It doesn't make any sense!”  Hiccup agreed.  “You jump, I jump... right?”  
  
“Right.”  the American agreed.  His muse pulled him forward into a kiss and they stood there, regardless of who might see them.  
  
Were it not for the rich peel of the bell in the Crow's Nest ringing out, they might have carried on for longer.  Their attention drawn, they looked up to the small white platform that was mounted to the foremast.  
  
Minutes that seemed like seconds passed from the warning bell, and the couple watched as a crewman shot across the Well Deck and up the steps to the Forecastle, vanishing from sight.  Unease gripped the young men as voices shouted from somewhere above, and from the Crow's Nest.  
  
Jack and Hiccup braced themselves when the deck beneath them suddenly rocked and began to shudder, followed by more raised voices.  They glanced upward as a massive iceberg slid into view on the starboard side, sending a cascade of frozen debris onto the deck as it struck the railing on the Forecastle.  
  
“Get back!”  Jack shouted as he pulled Hiccup away from the icy fragments.  Two steerage passengers who had been stood at the ship's edge were caught by the falling objects and knocked to the deck.  Safely stood away, the young lovers gaped as the wall of ice continued to pass by moving abaft, the deck lights of the ship glinting off of its sinister surface.  
  
The moment the floating mass had vanished from view, they charged across to the bulwark and looked aft, joined a few moments later by the two downed steerage passengers.  Further cascades of ice tumbled into the ocean and against the ship as the berg retreated into the distance, eventually gliding past the stern as it cleared the ship completely.  


* * *

  
Chunks of ice glided across the sodden deck as several Third Class passengers kicked them about.  Although the atmosphere amongst them was jovial, Hiccup and Jack were unable to share in the mood.  The two young men climbed up from the Well Deck to to B-Deck, where a number of First Class passengers had gathered and were either watching the game below or discussing the iceberg.    
  
As Hiccup and Jack stepped through the gate, an entourage of men including Captain Smith and Thomas Andrews appeared from the port side of the ship.  
  
“...Boiler Room Six is flooded eight feet above the plate and the Mail hold is worse.”  one of the ship's officers reported gravely.  “She's all buckled in the forward hull.”  
  
“Can you shore up?”  Smith asked, pushing the gate open for the gathering as they proceeded to the Well Deck.  
  
“Not unless the pumps get ahead.”  the officer answered.  
  
“Have you seen the damage in the mail hold?”  Andrews enquired urgently.  
  
“No, she's already under water.”  any further conversation was lost to Jack and Hiccup's ears as the group reached the bottom of the stairs and walked towards the Forecastle.  
  
“This is bad.”  the American mulled, unease in his voice and worry on his face.  
  
Hiccup made an uneasy decision, and turned to his lover.  “We should tell Father.”  Jack nodded reluctantly.  


* * *

  
They crossed the landing, approaching the corridor that would take them to the Haddocks' Parlour Suite.  The sight of Lovejoy stood outside his cabin filled the young Scotsman with a fresh bundle of nerves.  Beside him, Jack gave Hiccup's hand a reassuring squeeze.  
  
“We've been looking for you.”  the valet greeted.  If the sight of the two young men holding hands had provoked a reaction, he hadn't let it show.  Staying closer than either of them were comfortable with, the grim man in tweed followed as they approached the door.  
  
“Here we go.”  Hiccup whispered.  They entered the Sitting Room of B-52 to a gathered audience.  Stoick had been pacing the floor whilst Pitchiner was reclined in one of the chairs, a tumbler of whisky in hand.  At the sight of the two men holding hands, the elder Haddock's eyes narrowed.  
Also in attendance were two stewards, and the ship's Master-at-Arms, who held a few of Jack's sketches.  
With the couple's arrival, the coxswain set the drawings down and the mood in the room became tense as Lovejoy closed the door behind them.  
  
Hiccup was the first to break the heavy silence:  “Something serious has happened.”  
  
“Yes it has.”  Stoick agreed, not taking his eyes off of the two young men.  “Two things dear to me have disappeared this evening... now that one has returned, I'm very sure where we can find the other.”  he glanced over to the Master-at-Arms.  “Search him.”  
  
“Take your coat off, son.”  the officer of discipline instructed as one of the stewards approached.  The two men roughly removed the garment from Jack.  
  
“Now what?”  the artist protested as the two men went through the pockets.  
  
“Father?”  Hiccup glared at his father, incredulous.  “We're in the middle of an emergency, what's going on?”  
  
“Is this it?”  the steward called out, extracting something from the pocket.  To the young Scotsman's incredulity it was the necklace, the diamond sparkling incriminating in the light for all to see.  
  
“That's it!”  Stoick confirmed, taking possession of the jewellery.  Jack was beside himself in shock, his mouth wide open.  
  
“This is horse shit!”  he turned to his companion.  “Don't you believe it Hiccup, don't!”  
  
“'Hiccup'?!”  Stoick bristled, glaring at the artist.  
  
“He couldn't have...”  the younger Haddock gaped.  
  
“Of course he could.”  his father interjected.  “It's easy enough for a professional.”  
  
“Come on.”  the Master-at-Arms instructed as he snapped the familiar set of handcuffs onto Jack's wrists.  
  
“But I was with him the whole time!  This is absurd!”  Hiccup protested.  The elder Haddock approached his son and in a low voice, whispered into the young man's ear.  
  
“Perhaps he did it when you were putting your clothes back on.”  
  
“Real slick Mr. Haddock.”  Jack shot back.  “They put it in my pocket, Hiccup!”  
  
“Shut up!”  Stoick bellowed, his distaste for the nickname evident.  
  
“It isn't even your pocket, is it son?”  Lovejoy's voice chimed in.  “'Property of A. L. Ryerson'.”  he announced, displaying the name label sewn into the coat.  The coxswain took it from the valet to inspect it himself.  
  
“That was reported stolen today.”  he confirmed, glancing back at Jack.  
  
“I just borrowed it!  I was going to return it-”  
  
“Oh, an honest thief?  We have an honest thief!”  Pitchiner jeered, provoking a small murmur of amusement.  
  
The artist leant over to Hiccup, his expression urgent and his voice earnest.  “You know I didn't do this, Hiccup!”  he insisted.  “You know it!”  he searched the young Scotsman's face, a flicker of doubt flashing through the lad's eyes as he wrestled with the proof he'd been presented with and what he felt in his heart.  “Don't you believe it, Hiccup!  You know it!”  the Master-at-Arms placed a hand on Jack's shoulder to pull him back.  “You know I didn't do it!”  
  
“Come on, let's go.”  the coxswain instructed as he dragged Jack to the door.  
  
“You know I didn't do it, Hiccup!”  
  
“Don't make a fuss, come on... there's a good lad!  Come on son, there's a good lad!”  the Master-at-Arms had managed to pull the artist out into the hallway, drawing the attention of the nearby First Class passengers.  “Come on!”  
  
“You know I didn't do it!  You know me!”  


* * *

  
The Sitting Room had been vacated by everyone except Hiccup and his father.  The younger Haddock stood shell shocked, trying to digest what had happened.  Meanwhile, the elder Haddock stood at the fireplace with his head down, one of his great hands either side of him on the mantel.  The only sounds in the room were the ticking of the mantel clock, Stoick's deep breathing and Hiccup's heart, which thudded in fear.  
  
“I don't even know where to begin.”  the older Scotsman turned away from the fireplace to face his son, focussing the full power of his glare on Hiccup.  “I thought we had a deal... I asked you not to see that boy again.  Instead you've disobeyed me...”  he snatched up Jack's leather sketch pad.  “...and you conspired with him to create this indecency!”  he threw the open pad onto the table, revealing the drawing.  “Do you have any idea how embarrassed I was when I saw it?  Or when Lovejoy and Pitchiner happened to see it?”  he fumed.  “And what did you intend to accomplish with the letter I found with it?”  
  
The letter in question had floated out of pad onto the carpet.  In Hiccup's handwriting it read:

>   
>  **Father, now you can keep us both locked up in your safe.  - Hamish.**

  
 “It's clear now, there's too much on board distracting you... confusing you.   Starting tomorrow there'll be no more distractions.  You'll accompany me as you begin building business relations with the other passengers in First Class.  What time you aren't spending at my side, you'll spend in your stateroom.  I will instruct Lovejoy to keep watch to ensure you do not stray.”  he levelled his gaze at his son.  “Do we understand?”  
  
“Yes...”  Hiccup answered meekly.  
  
“I beg your pardon?”  
  
“Yes, Father!”  the younger Haddock responded louder.  
  
“And as for this...”  the elder Haddock picked up the sketch pad.  “This will be stowed away in the safe until it can be safely burned in New York.”  
  
Pad in hand, Stoick vanished from the room, leaving Hiccup rooted to the spot.  Beyond the doorway, the younger Scotsman heard the familiar sound of the safe being opened and then locked.  The incriminating portrait stowed away, Stoick returned, just as a knock sounded at the outer door.  
  
“Mr. Haddock?”  it opened to reveal a steward.  
  
“I'm having a private conversation with my son!”  the older Scotsman protested.  
  
“Sir, I've been told to ask you to please put on your life belts, and come up to the Boat Deck.”  
  
“I said not now!”  
  
“I'm sorry to inconvenience you, Mr. Haddock, but it's Captain's orders.  Now please dress warmly, it's quite cold out tonight.”  the steward persisted as he crossed the Sitting Room and entered B-54, quickly returning with a life jacket for both passengers.  “Now may I suggest top coats and hats.”


	9. Women and Children first

The rush of steam venting from the _Titanic_ 's funnels hammered at the windows of the First Class Lounge, but failed to drown out the recital of _Alexander's Ragtime Band_ that the ship's musicians were playing to keep the passengers calm.  Even more passengers were congregated on the A-Deck landing of the Grand Staircase, dressed in a variety of evening attire, dressing gowns and nightwear.  As instructed, the Haddocks had exited the cabin and were making their way to the Boat Deck when they'd met up with Pitchiner.  
  
“It's a lot of bother over nothing.”  the Englishman muttered as they walked.  “Doing everything by the bloody book.”  
  
“Mind your language, Pitchiner.”  Stoick intoned.  As they paused at the flight of stairs leading upward, Hiccup glanced over his shoulder in time to see Thomas Andrews entering the landing from the direction of the lounge, his face haunted and walking in a daze.  The younger Haddock reached out and grabbed the shipbuilder's arm, turning him to face each other.  The sudden contact broke Andrews from his spell and he looked surprised to see Hiccup.    
  
“Mr. Andrews?”  the Irishman's eyes were filled with remorse.  “I saw the iceberg... and I see it in your eyes.  Please tell me the truth.”  
  
A passenger laughing nearby caused Andrews to cautiously lead Hiccup away from the staircase.  
  
“The ship will sink.”  a pit of dread formed in Hiccup's stomach at the certainty in Andrews' voice.  
  
“For certain?”  Stoick and Pitchiner had also heard the shipbuilder's report, with the colour draining from the elder Haddock's face.  
  
“Yes... In an hour or so, all of this will be at the bottom of the Atlantic.”  Andrews responded, looking up and around at the staircase and dome.  
  
“What?”  Pitchiner stammered, disbelieving.  
  
“Please, tell only who you must... I don't want to be responsible for a panic.”  Andrews requested.  “And get to a boat... quickly!  Don't wait.  You... remember what I told you about the boats?”  
  
“Yes.”  Hiccup nodded solemnly.  “I understand.”  
  
The shipbuilder nodded silently in return and walked away, leaving the young man to digest the news.  
  


* * *

  
The fight had gone out of Jack by the time he was led into the Master-at-Arms' Office on E-Deck, his protestations and struggling had proven futile against the unforgiving metal of the handcuffs and of the strength of the crewmen who'd led him there.  
  
The office, like many of the areas on board that weren't designated First Class, was painted in that now-familiar gloss white.  Furnishing the room were a pair of solidly built desks, an equally solid-looking cupboard, a wall cabinet and a few shelves.  Immediately to Jack's right as he entered was another door which led to a room furnished with wooden berths.  The burly blond Scotsman silently led the American over to the far side of the room, towards a wall which revealed that the office was perched against the outer hull of the ship.  
  
“Over here, son.”  the coxswain instructed as he unlocked one of the cuffs, indicating that he wanted the artist to stand with one arm either side of a pipe that nearly ran the height of the room.  As the Scotsman prepared to relock the cuffs, a crewman appeared breathlessly at the door.  
  
“Sir, they need you up in the Second Class Purser's Office... there's a big mob up there.”  
  
The Master-at-Arms glanced across at Lovejoy, who had followed them below decks.  
  
“Go on, I'll keep an eye on him.”  the valet stated calmly, pulling back one breast of his jacket to reveal a gleaming 1911 Colt .45 pistol in a holster.  
  
“Aye, right.”  the Scotsman nodded, locking the handcuffs and dropping the key in Lovejoy's hand.  As the two crewmen disappeared, the grim-faced Englishman eased himself into a swivel chair beside one of the desks, prepared to guard Jack for as long as was needed.  
  


* * *

  
An unknown amount of time had passed since the Master-at-Arms had departed, and the American had quickly become eager for a distraction from his watchman.  With as much freedom as the cuffs and pipe allowed, the artist repositioned himself to look out of the single porthole on the wall beside him.  At first there had been nothing beyond the glass but darkness, but as the unmeasured time stretched on a sliver of water began to rise up at an angle.  
  
The sound of metal rolling along wood drew him back to his guard.  Lovejoy had removed a single bullet from the Colt's clip, set it at one end of the nearest desk, and let it roll back toward him where it eventually dropped into the his hand.  The Englishman repeated the exercise once more, before returning the bullet to the clip.  As a final measure of menace, he slipped the clip back into the gun with a welcoming _click_ , whilst giving Jack a cold, thin smile.  
  
“You know, I do believe this ship may sink.”  he stood up from the chair, picking up the key and throwing it into the air with a flourish.  Jack watched as he the valet deposited the key in his pocket, before exiting and closing the door behind him.  
  


* * *

  
“Step aboard now!  Step aboard!”  Second Officer Lightoller instructed as women and children were being loaded into lifeboat No. 6, on the port side near the Officers' Quarters.  Nearby, Molly Brown did her best to coax her fellow passengers into the boat.  
  
“Come on sister, you heard the man!”  she gently instructed as she helped a woman climb in.  Stood in the growing crowd on deck were Stoick, Hiccup and Pitchiner, who waited to find out when they could leave the ship.  Growing impatient, the Englishman stepped forward, a friendly smile on his face.  
  
“Any room for a gentleman, gentlemen?”  Pitchiner enquired.  
  
“Only women at this time, sir.”  the crewman responded politely.  
The Englishman rejoined the Haddocks.  “Hopefully the boats won't be too crowded, once we're allowed on.”  
  
The indifference in Pitchiner's voice unleashed something inside of Hiccup.  
  
“Oh shut up!”  the Englishman looked aghast, whilst Stoick had also been taken back by his son's raised voice.  
  
“Hamish-”  
  
“Don't you understand?!”  the younger Scotsman roughly grabbed the subject of his anger by the shoulders.  “The water is freezing and there aren't enough boats, not enough by half.”  he cast his gaze at the passengers stood around them.  “Half the people on this ship are going to die.”  
  
“Not the better half.”  Pitchiner answered smugly.  “Too bad your father didn't want to keep that drawing, I imagine it'll be worth a lot more by morning.”  
  
Hiccup's eyes widened as the realisation dawned on him.  “You unimaginable bastard.”  he scowled at the Englishman, who smirked coldly back at him.  
  
Above them a distress rocket burst into a brilliant explosion of white light, almost as if it had been the result of the decision Hiccup had made in that moment.  
  
“Goodbye, Father.”  
  
“Hamish?”  Stoick's voiced trailed behind him as the young Scotsman began to jog away from the boat, in the direction of the Grand Staircase.  He only stopped when a hand painfully grabbed his arm.  Expecting his father, he was surprised to see Pitchiner attempting to restrain him, the Englishman's normally composed face twisted into a snarl of anger.  
  
“Where are you going?  To him?!”  he barked.  “To be a shirt lifter to a gutter rat?”  
  
“Get off of me!”  Hiccup shouted, trying to yank his arm free.  
  
“No!”  Pitchiner bellowed.  “I said no!”  
  
On instinct, Hiccup balled up the fist of his left hand and launched it.  His knuckles landed against the Englishman's right cheek, sending him backwards in surprise.  Pitchiner looked at him with the eyes of a wild, wounded animal as he covered the injured part of his face.  Hiccup paused long enough to realise what he'd done, and to savour the reaction before he departed at a rapid pace.  
  


* * *

  
The young Scotsman's adrenaline was still rushing as he tore through the hallways of First Class, looking for the one man on board who would be able to help him find Jack.  
  
“Mr. Andrews!  Mr. Andrews!”  he shouted as he reached a T-junction.   His heart leaped in his chest as soon as he spotted the shipbuilder going from one cabin to the next, checking for passengers.  “Thank God!  Where would the Master-at-Arms take someone under arrest?”  
  
“What?”  Andrews asked in confusion.  “You have to get to a boat right away!”  he urged.  
  
“No!”  Hiccup insisted.  “I'm doing this with or without your help, Sir... but without it'll take longer.”  
  
Andrews' face softened, realising he wasn't going to succeed in dissuading the young man.  
  
“Take the elevator to the very bottom, go to the left... down the crewman's passage, then go right and left again at the stairs... you'll come to a long corridor...”  
  


* * *

  
“Help!”  Jack bellowed, banging the handcuffs against the pipe for extra noise.  “Can anybody hear me?!”  despite his efforts, only silence responded.  “Hello?!  Help me!  Help me!!  Can anybody hear me!!”  he rested his head against the pipe in frustration.  “This is going to be bad.”  
  
The sound of gurgling drew his attention and he turned to witness a steady stream of water pour in from underneath the door and roll into the room.  
  
“Oh shit!  Oh shit!!”  in a desperate hope to find a second key to the cuffs, Jack had dragged the nearest desk towards him.  Although the search had proven futile, the piece of furniture gave him something to clamber onto to escape the water spreading across the floor of the office.  Planting his feet against the hull, he pulled ferociously at the pipe in case he could dislodge it.  
  


* * *

  
Hiccup charged across the B-Deck landing of the Grand Staircase, pushing past passengers to get to the lifts behind the stairway.  As he rounded the corner he spotted a operator trying to avoid an argument with one of the First Class passengers.  
  
“I'm sorry but the lifts are closed!”  
  
“I do not care what you think sir!”  the female passenger protested as the young Scotsman neared the entrance.  Spotting the new arrival the operator put his arm out across the entrance to the lift.  
  
“I'm sorry sir, but the lifts are closed!”  he insisted.  The denial of entry was like a rag to a bull, and Hiccup saw red.  With a forceful grab of the operator's jacket, he pushed him back into the lift and roughly against the back wall of the car.  
  
“I'm through being polite God damn it!  Now take me down!”  without a word the operator, fear in his eyes, threw the level, sending the lift into descent.  “E-Deck.”  Hiccup instructed more calmly as he closed the safety gates.  
  


* * *

  
The floor of the office was now completely submerged, with more water steadily pouring into the room.  Jack tugged at his handcuffs, trying to see if he could slide them off.  
  
“Come on!”  he pleaded.  “Come on, come on!”  he pulled at them like an animal caught in a trap, the flesh of his wrists reddened as he winced in pain.  “Agghhh!”  he cried, abandoning the plan.    
  


* * *

  
The lift descended at a mockingly slow pace.  As D-Deck finally slipped from view Hiccup glanced down at E-Deck, just in time to see that the landing was a foot deep in water.  Cold liquid flooded into the lift, sending the Scotsman and operator scrambling backward.  
  
“I'm going back up!”  he yelped as he reached for the lever.  
  
“No!”  Hiccup bellowed as he grabbed the operator's arm and pushed him backwards into a chair.  Pulling the gates aside, the younger Haddock waded out into the flooded landing, trying to get his bearings.  
  
“Come back!”  the operator pleaded.  As soon as he realised his words were useless, he retreated back into the lift and grabbed the lever.  “I'm going back up!  I'm going back up!”  Hiccup paused, watching as gravity pulled the Atlantic waters out of the lift, creating a waterfall.  
  
Now alone, he returned to his task.  “Crew passage... crew passage!”  he muttered until he spotted a corridor leading from the landing, a “ _crew only_ ” sign above it.  He hesitated only for a moment before he plunged forward, following Andrews' instructions.  
  


* * *

  
The water lapped at Hiccup's waist as he reached the crew staircase.  He crossed the landing as quickly as he could, throwing aside a drifting desk drawer as he charged forward into a darkened corridor.  At the end of the dark corridor he paused at a junction with a longer one to check his location.  
  
“Jack?!”  he shouted desperately, feeling overwhelmed.  With no response to help guide him, he took the left turn into the longer corridor.  As he walked the lights began to flicker ominously prompting him to shout again.  “Jack!”   
  


* * *

  
The artist glanced towards the door, uncertain of whether he'd actually heard someone calling his name.  
  
“Jack!”  the voice was louder this time, closer, and unmistakeable who it belonged to.  “Jack?!”  
  
“Hiccup!”  Jack shouted at the top of his lungs.  
  


* * *

  
Hiccup spun on the spot, trying to pinpoint where Jack's voice had come from.  
  
“Jack?!”  
  
“Hiccup!  Hiccup, I'm in here!”  the voice called out, followed closely by the sound of metal rattling against metal.    
  
“Jack!”  the young Scotsman rushed back down the flooding corridor until a door appeared on his left.  Pushing it open he found the American chained to a pipe, desperation written all over his body.  “Jack!  I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!”  grabbing Overland, he gave his lover as strong a hug as he could manage.  
  
“That guy Lovejoy put it in my pocket!”  
  
“I know, I know!”  Hiccup responded apologetically.  
  
“You're going to have to find a spare key, alright?  Look in that cabinet right there!”  Jack did his best to point to a cabinet filled with keys on the wall of the office.  The Scotsman crossed the room, throwing open the cabinet doors.  “A little silver one!”  
  
Hiccup's hands brushed across the different keys, nothing matched Jack's description.  
  
“These are all brass ones!”  
  
“Check right here!”  Jack stretched a sodden foot out, pointing at the desk nearest to him.  The younger man started pulling the drawers out to search their contents.  “Hiccup?”  the Scotsman looked up from his search.  “How did you find out I didn't do it?”  
  
“I didn't... I just realised I already knew.”  Hiccup responded, a shaky smile growing on his face.  
  
“Keep looking!”  
  
Hiccup tore through the rest of the first desk, and eventually moved onto the second.  Having found no key, he dropped the final drawer into the water in frustration.  
  
“I can't find a key.”  he fumed for a moment, before he glanced up at Jack.  
  
“Hiccup, it's going to be okay.”  Jack did his best to make his voice calm and reassuring.  
  
The combination of the American's voice and face had a calming effect on the younger man, and he nodded with determination.  
  
“You're right.  I'll... I'll get some help.”  Hiccup began to move towards the door, but quickly waded back and placed a quick kiss on Jack's lips.  “I'll be right back.”  he promised, before returning to the door, throwing the floating swivel chair out of the way as he went.  
  
“I'll just wait here!”  Jack's voice followed him out into the corridor, and a cold dread filled him as soon as he saw how bad the flooding in the passage had become.  The end closer to the bow was fully hidden beneath the water, making the space suddenly claustrophobic.  
He shook off the feeling and willed his legs to move back to the junction, pausing to consider whether to return to the Grand Staircase or to go up a set of stairs to D-Deck.  The Scotsman decided quickly, charging up the nearer stairwell.  
  
Hiccup knew that his chances of finding anyone who might be able to help were slim, but he didn't want to dwell on the alternative.  He needed to think of a plan, but the indecipherable maze of passageways were frustrating any effort to come up with a solution.  He slowed his pace as he fought the feeling of being overwhelmed again, he had to find a way of freeing Jack.  
Around the Scotsman the hallway lights began to dim, casting him into darkness as the ship groaned in protest.  He rested against the cool wood of the wall, letting himself breath calmly until the bulbs brightened, revealing the answer he sought.  
  
On the wall was a fire hose, and a glazed red box that contained a fire axe.  He unhooked the nozzle and a length of hose, pulling it free from the winding spool.  He grasped the brass nozzle and struck the glass covering the axe, shattering it.  Broken shards fell to the floor as he wrenched the weapon free, and with it out of the case he raced back down the hall, retracing his steps to the stairs... where he froze.  
  
The staircase down to E-Deck was now several feet under water, the surface itself only a few feet from the ceiling of the passageway below.  With no other choice, the Scotsman proceeded down and using the horizontal part of the framework of the gate at the junction, he leant out into the hallway.  
  
An explosion of electricity flared with a spark, drawing his attention, before he looked back towards the Master-at-Arms' office.  With a push against the frame he swam out into the hallway, where he was reminded of what Jack had said about freezing water.  
  
“Shit!”  he exhaled through gritted teeth.  “Agghhhh!”  he reached up to the pipes that were fastened to the ceiling, using them to pull himself forward through the numbing liquid.  The progress was slow but the water finally began to subside, and soon his feet were touching the floor.  Letting go of the pipework, Hiccup gripped the handle of the axe with both hands, holding it above him as he waded the last several feet.    
  
“Jack!”  he shouted as he shoved the open door of a cupboard away as he re-entered the office.  The American looked up, now crouched awkwardly on top of the fully submerged desk.  The artist's eyes lit up at the sight of his companion.  
  
“Hiccup!”  
  
“Will this work?”  the younger man asked as he held the up the axe triumphantly.  
  
The American appeared startled by the weapon for a moment, before answering: “I guess we'll find out, c'mon.”  Jack pulled the chain of the handcuffs taunt over a off-shoot of the pipe, keeping his hands clear as Hiccup waded over to him.  By his side, the Scotsman lifted the axe up over his left shoulder as he prepared to swing.  
“Whoa, whoa, whoa... wait!”  the artist implored in hesitation.  “Try a couple of practice swings, over there.”  he nodded towards the cupboard Hiccup had passed.  
The younger Haddock turned and approached the piece of furniture, lifting the axe over his shoulder again to swing.  The blade swung up in an arc over his head and buried itself into one of the doors.  “Good!  Now, try to hit the same mark again Hiccup, you can do it!”  
  
The younger man hesitated, before swinging again.  The blade impacted several inches to the right, and higher from the first hit.  He gaped as he pulled the axe from the woodwork, feeling his confidence fade.  
  
“Okay... that's enough practice.”  the American observed from behind.  Hiccup faced the artist as he repositioned his hands.  “You can do it!  Listen, just hit it really hard... and really fast!  C'mon... wait!”  Jack posed his hands to make it look like he was holding an axe.  “Open the hands up a little more.”  Hiccup reposition his left hand for a better grip.  
  
“Like that?”  
  
“Right!”  Jack nodded.  “Listen, Hiccup... I believe in you.”  he looked his friend dead in the eye.  He then turned away and scrunched his eyes closed.  “Go!”  
  
The cry of metal against metal rang in their ears, amplified by the small space.  Overland opened his eyes cautiously to inspect the damage, and instead was astounded to see the chain of the handcuffs cut, with not a drop of blood to be seen.  He turned incredulously to Hiccup who looked as surprised, before cheering and hugging him furiously.  “You did it!”  they indulged in the moment of celebration, before finally making their retreat.  
  
“Let's go!”  Hiccup insisted as Jack dropped into the water.  
  
“Woah, that's cold!”  the American gasped as the intensity of the temperature swarmed around him.  Following the Scotsman out into the hallway, they stopped as his companion gaped in horror.  The stairwell to D-Deck was now below the water, obscured by a froth of bubbles and sparking electricity.  
  
“This is the way out!”  Hiccup yelped.  
  
“We have to find another way, come on!”  Jack grabbed his lover's hand and led them towards the drier end of the hallway.


	10. A business arrangement

Jack and Hiccup's path through the passages and corridors of the _Titanic_ was blind, navigated only by the fact that sooner or later they would find a staircase, and that moving further towards the stern kept them away from the ingress of the ocean.  The plan had been succeeding until the two men had turned a corner, only to find a locked door barring their way.  
  
“Shit!”  the American shook the handle in futile frustration.  
  
“We can try another door, one of the others we passed might be a way out.”  the Scotsman reasoned.  
  
“There's no guarantee any of those doors will get us out of here.”  The artist put his ear against the woodwork.  “I can hear people on the other side.”  
He took a few steps back and rammed his shoulder into the door, shaking it in the frame.  “Stand back.”  Jack instructed as he stepped further back and rammed the door again.  “Aggggghhhhh!”  he bellowed as he crashed into the door for the third and final time, sending splintered woodwork flying as it flung open.  Grabbing Hiccup's hand, the American stumbled out into the longest passage on the ship, Scotland Road, amidst a crowd of surprised steerage passengers.  
  
“Here!  What do you think you're doing?”  a steward barked as the two young men tried to get their bearings.  “You'll have to pay for that you know!  That's White Star Line Property!”  
  
“Shut up!”  both Hiccup and Jack shouted in unison, startling the crewman.  As they walked the gathering of steerage passengers grew until it had became a swell at the base of one of the main stairways, the exit barred by several members of the crew and a locked gate.  
  
“For God's sake man there are women a children down here!  Let us out so we can have a chance!”  a familiar Irish voice cried out in desperation above the chorus of angry voices.  From the throng, Tommy appeared, his eyes locking onto Jack as he descended the stairs.  “Jack!”  
  
“Tommy!  Can we get out?”  
  
“It's hopeless that way!”  
  
“Jack!” the American, Irishman and Scotsman all pivoted to see Fabrizio emerge from the crowd around them.  
  
“Fabrizio!”  the artist leapt forward, giving his friend a relieved hug.  
  
“The boats are all gone!”  the Italian protested.  
  
“This whole place is flooding, we've got to get out of here!”  
  
“There's _niente_ this way.”  Fabrizio indicated the passage behind him.  
  
“Alright.”  Jack nodded.  “Let's go this way, alright?  Come on!”  he charged ahead, leading the group away past the stairwell.  
  


* * *

  
The fellowship of differing nationalities raced from one hallway to the next, finding more locked gates and overwhelmed passengers, lost in their own panic or by the language barrier.  The artist paused at a doorway with an unlocked gate, before he led the group toward a new set of stairs.  
  
“This way!”    
  
“Go back to the main stairwell and everything will be sorted out!”  a steward's voice echoed from above as Jack and the others raced up to a crowd gathered around a gate to D-Deck.  “It will all get sorted out back there... go back to the main stairwell!”  
  
Overland, the first on the landing approached the gate and addressed one of the two stewards.  “Open the gate.”  
  
“Go back down the main stair-”  
  
“Open the gate right _now_!”  Jack interrupted, pointing at the lead steward.  
  
“Go back down the main stairwell like I told you!”  the American turned away in angry frustration, his eyes meeting with Hiccups' briefly before he spun back, his face a mask of fury.  
  
“God damn it son of a bitch!”  he bellowed as he fiercely shook the gate, scaring the two crewmen.  
  
“Stop that!”  the steward instructed shakily as the angered artist darted away, looking for anything he could use to get through.  His gaze settled on a large wooden bench that was bolted to the floor, and he quickly stepped over to it.  As soon as he was beside the fixture he began to pull at it, hoping to rip it free.  
  
“Fabri!  Tommy!  Give me a hand here!”  
  
“Move aside... Move aside!”  Hiccup shouted, clearing a path to the gate as the American, Irishman and Italian tore the bench from the deck with a lack _crack_.  “Move aside!  Move aside!”  
  
“Put that down!”  the steward urged desperately as the crowd cleared and the men primed the improvised battering ram at the gate.  “Put that down!”  
  
“One! Two!”  
  
“Stop that!”  the steward protested as his shipmate ran, abandoning his post.  
  
“Three!”  Jack shouted, initiating their charge.  With two further passengers lending their strength, they slammed the bench into the gate, shaking it fiercely.  “Again!”  they pulled back and charged.    
  
This time, the gate broke open under the brunt of the attack, sending the steward stumbling backwards as the trapped passengers began to climb through.  “Let's go!  Let's go, Hiccup!”  
  
“You can't go up there!  You go there-”  the crewman's speech was interrupted as Tommy's left fist connected with his jaw, sending him to the deck.  
  


* * *

  
The released steerage passengers spilled out onto the Boat Deck from the Second Class entrance, the aft-most housing on the deck.  Jack and Hiccup, at the front of the group, looked out at the davits for lifeboats No. 10, 12, 14 and 16, which all stood empty.  
  
“The boats are gone!”  Hiccup cried disheartened as Jack rushed past.  He clambered up the aft railing of the deck and peered forward towards the _Titanic_ 's bow.  Behind them Colonel Gracie materialised from the crowd, in the process of escorting two women when he caught the young Scotsman's attention.  “Colonel!  Are there any boats on that side?”  
  
“No master Haddock, but there are a couple of boats all the way forward.”  he pointed towards the bow.  “This way, I'll lead you.”  
  
Hiccup grabbed Jack's hand and pulled him forward with him, leaving the Colonel behind them in their race towards the bow.  As the group passed the raised roof of the First Class Lounge, Tommy noticed the musicians of the ship's orchestra who were still playing.  
  
“Music to drown by, now I know I'm in First Class!”  he observed dryly.  
  
Beside the Officers' Quarters they could see lifeboat No. 2 was still in the process of being loaded, however they could also see that the boat was surrounded by passengers and in danger of being swamped.  Without hesitation, Jack and Hiccup entered the crowd and pushed forward towards the front, only pausing when Officer Lightoller unloaded his weapon into the night sky.  
  
“Women and children only!”  he barked with authority.  “Get back sir!  Come through, madame!  This way!  Step back sir!  Let the women through!”  
  
Jack spun to Tommy “Go check the other side!”  he urged the Irishman.  “Go!”  Tommy nodded, and with Fabrizio, they disappeared towards the starboard side of the deck.  
  
“Give her to me.”  Lightoller calmly instructed a man who was holding his daughter.  
  
“Daddy!”  the girl, only a few years younger than Hiccup, protested as the Officer seated her in the boat with her mother and sister.  
  
“It'll be fine darling!”  her father dressed only in his pyjamas, dressing gown and a hat insisted.  “Don't you worry!”  
  
“Daddy, get in the boat!”  the man's other daughter pleaded.  
  
“It's good bye for a little while, only for a little while... there'll be another boat for the daddies, this boat's for the mummies and the children.  You hold Mummy's hand and be a good little girl.”  
  
The young Scotsman turned away from the scene to face his lover, unable to bear any more.  
  
“I'm not going without you.”  he insisted.  
  
“No, you have to go.”  the American was equally insistent.  “Now.”  
  
“No, Jack.”  there was a determined edge in Hiccup's voice.  
  
“Get on the boat, Hiccup.”  
  
“Yes, get on the boat, Hamish.”  a voice rose from over Jack's shoulder as Pitchiner and Lovejoy appeared.  The younger of the two Englishmen glanced disapprovingly at Jack before turning his attention to his employer's son.  “My God, you're absolutely soaking!”  he pulled Hiccup's dripping suit jacket off and flung it into Jack's hands.  “Put this on.”  Pitchiner instructed curtly, shrugging off his long grey overcoat and helping Hiccup into it.  “Your father would never forgive me if I let you perish from the cold.”  he offered an unconvincing smile.  
  
“Go on, I'll get the next one.”  the artist insisted.  
  
“No, not without you.”  the younger man tried to keep his voice low amongst the other passengers.  
  
“It'll be alright... listen, I'll be fine, I'm a survivor alright...  Don't worry about me.  Now go on... get on!”  
  
“I have an arrangement with an officer on the other side of the ship.  Your father is already off, and we can leave safely as well...”  Pitchiner paused, casting a sideways glance at Jack.  “Both of us.”  
  
“See?  Got my own boat to catch.”  the American assured his companion.  
  
“Hurry, they're almost full.”  the Englishman nodded towards the lifeboat.  Hiccup studied both of their faces, uncertain and not fully convinced, but without a further word he turned towards the boat, Pitchiner leading him toward the edge of the deck.  
  
“Only women and children!”  Lightoller instructed sternly upon seeing the young Scotsman.  
  
“He's fifteen, only a boy!”  Pitchiner lied.  “Please.”  
  
The Officer scrutinised Hiccup as Jack watched, worried that the crewman might not be convinced.  Although his face seemed sceptical, he nodded.  
  
“Very well, but no more.”  
  
“Thank you.”  the Englishman smiled.  
  
“Step aboard, lad!”  Chief Officer Wilde instructed, lifting Hiccup up and over the bulwark into the lifeboat.  The Scotsman looked back at Jack and reached out, briefly grasping the America's outstretched arm before they were pulled apart by the officer. “Clear the rope, please!”  he raised both arms and in a loud, clear voice, ordered:  “And lower away!”  
  
The boat suddenly dropped as the davit mechanisms sprang to life, causing several of the passengers sitting around Hiccup to cry in surprise.  Jack and Pitchiner remained at the bulwark and watched as the subject of their attention was lowered toward the water.  
  


* * *

  
“You're a good liar.”  the Englishman muttered to the American as they watched Hiccup's boat depart.  
  
“Almost as good as you.”  Overland returned, not looking at the man to his right.  “There's no... uh... there's no arrangement, is there?”  
  
“Oh, there is.”  Pitchiner replied smugly.  “Not that you'll benefit much from it.”  the artist turned to glower at him, bristling at the tone in the rich man's voice.  “I always win, Jack.  One way or another.”  he chuckled, accompanied with a cold, thin smirk.  
  
Unwilling to endure the sight, Jack returned his gaze to Hiccup.  The boat was almost level with the A-Deck promenade.  
  


* * *

  
Jack nodded sadly and silently down at the Scotsman as the gulf between them grew.  The younger man's desire to stay and the instinct to survive clashed inside of him, and in an effort to take his mind off he trained his eyes on the other passengers in the boat.  The effort was futile, and he returned his gaze to Jack, just in time to see a fountain of sparks shoot up into the sky behind him.  The sparks gave way to an explosion of light, which in turn metamorphosed into a cascade of flares which drifted down, framing the American's head and face against the darkness.  
  
The young Scotsman suddenly acted on instinct, surprising even himself and the other passengers as he scrambled towards the side of the lifeboat.  
  


* * *

  
On the Boat Deck, Pitchiner and Jack watched in disbelief as the younger Haddock forced his way back towards the ship.  
  
“Hiccup!”  The artist bellowed, just as the Scotsman launched himself out of the boat and onto the curved bulwark on A-Deck.  “What are you doing?!”  
  
“Stop him!  Stop him!”  the Englishman protested loudly as Hiccup scrambled over the wooden rail and onto the deck.  Jack pushed away from the side of the ship and ran for the entrance to the Grand Staircase.  
  


* * *

  
The young Scotsman barged his way roughly through the gathered passengers and crew as he sprinted for the staircase.  Dashing through the nearest open door, he dodged more passengers as ran towards the stairs.  Jack had already reached the landing and threw his arms around the younger man.  
  
“Hiccup!”  the American embraced his lover in a fierce hug.  “You're so stupid!”  he quickly kissed him, not caring if the other passengers saw.  “Why'd you do that, huh?  Why?”  
  
“You jump, I jump... right?”  the auburn-headed lad asked, fighting back tears.  
  
“Right.”  Jack reluctantly admitted with a strained smile, before he hugged his companion again.  
  
“I'm sorry, I couldn't go...”  Hiccup's muffled voice responded, his head buried in Jack's shoulder.  
  
“It's alright, we'll think of something.”  their words trailed off into silence as they savoured each other's embrace.  
  
Above them, raised voices of alarm drew their attention up to the top of the staircase.  In a dash of movement, Pitchiner swung out towards them, a flash of silver in his hand.  
  
“Come on!”  Jack sprang to action as he pulled Hiccup and himself away.  A split-second later, one of the carved newel post finials broke in two as the report of a pistol cracked throughout the room.  As the young lovers raced down the steps to B-Deck, their pursuer reached the landing, slipping and falling to the floor on the wooden debris.  
  
A second bullet whizzed past and embedded itself into the floor of B-Deck, quickening their pace as they ran down to C-Deck.   
  
Pitchiner, his face twisted in fury, continued his pursuit.  Shoving passengers out of his way and growling angrily, the well maintained exterior of a Englishman in high society had been replaced by a snarling animal with murder in it's eyes.  
  
A third _crack_ rang out, sending up a spray of water as the American and Scotsman darted out onto the partially-submerged landing of D-Deck.  
  
The Reception Room was flooded several feet deep at the staircase, the wicker furniture around it scattered untidily like driftwood.  Above them, several of the ceiling lights had become shorted out from the intrusion of the water.  
  
Jack launched himself into the cold liquid, the sting an acceptable discomfort to evade their pursuer.  “C'mon Hiccup!”  he shouted as he led the terrified lad towards the Dining Saloon.  A forth shot rang out from behind them, sending up a geyser perilously close.  On the staircase, Pitchiner skidded as he fired a fifth shot, missing the young men once again.  
  
“Aggggghhh!”  the Englishman's anguished howl echoed as they closed in on the swinging doors, followed by a seventh shot that struck one of the floating chairs.  The eight and final shot crashed through one of the windows looking into the dining space, sending shards of glass flying as the fleeing American and Scotsman traded ankle-deep water for sodden carpet.  
  
Putting as much ground as they could between them and the madman following them, Hiccup and Jack had crossed the Dining Saloon at a break-neck pace, aiming for the set of doors at the far end of the room.  The artist eagerly grasped the handle and pulled... only for the doors to shake in their frame.  He grabbed at the locked exit, pulling furiously at the handles and wood in the hope of forcing them open.  
  
Emitting a loud hiss, he let go of the doors and grabbed Hiccup's hand once more, leading the two of them to the port side of the saloon to try the other exit.


	11. A sinking feeling

Pitchiner cautiously strode into the Dining Saloon, the silver gun in his hand reloaded and ready to fire.  He rushed forward out of the water that was encroaching on the dining space, ducking to his right as a wooden trolley slid along the deck and into the tide.  Spotting the exit ahead of him, he ran forwards to check the way out, only to find it barred.  
  
The ship continued to creak unhappily around him, the stress on the structure mounting.  He slowly strode towards the main dining area, pausing as a bright spark exploded with a _spakzzz_ , darkening the room as all of the ceiling lights failed.  His attention shifted to another trolley that began to roll towards the sinking bow, laden with breakfast china which tinkled as it moved.  The heavy object plunged into the water and came to a rest against one of the dining tables.  
  
The delicate sound of moving porcelain and glassware had begun to grow as the scene of chaos in the once formal room continued to build.   The heavy chairs were toppling over backwards as the tables themselves became submerged.  The Englishman looked back towards the open entrance to the saloon as it sunk further beneath the surface.  If he didn't hurry, his way back would soon be blocked.  
  
He spun around suddenly as a third trolley slid straight into him, causing the plates to rattle loudly as it bounced against his leg.  He strained to hear any sound other than the cacophony that surrounded him.  
  
Unbeknown to Pitchiner, Hiccup and Jack were positioned only a few feet away from him, crouched behind one of the larger tables.  From their hiding place they watched as the Englishman patrolled with the pistol.  
The American turned to his lover and pressed a finger to his lips, silently instructing the Scotsman to stay in hiding.  As quiet as a mouse, the artist stealthily shifted over to the next table aft, keeping still as soon as their pursuer turned back in their direction.  
  
“I know you're here!”  Pitchiner called out, his voice malevolent but confident.  “No use prolonging this.  It's only a matter of time.”  he strode over to the port side and surveyed the surroundings.  Half of the room was now completely under water, exit via the Grand Staircase was no longer possible.   
  
Knelt behind the table, the water was now level with Hiccup's chest, making him desperately want to move so he could get to higher ground.  
An involuntary shiver ran through the young man's body, causing him to jerk forward and bang the chair beside him into the table.  
  
Pitchiner froze and faced toward the source of the sound.  
  
“There you are.”  he greeted as he approached.  “Where's the other degenerate?”  he spat.  
  
“Why do you care?”  Hiccup asked, exasperated.  
  
“I've invested a lot into Haddock Steel, and I had a lot of plans for you once your father retired from the company.  Plans I didn't want to see go to ruin because you'd rather fuck a sodomite from steerage.”  he levelled the gun at the younger man.  “Boys like you... you have no appreciation for hard work.  You've had everything handed to you, and you still insist on throwing it all away.”  
Pitchiner scowled at the younger Haddock.  “You could've had it incredibly easy.  I was more than happy to step into the role of your advisor once your father handed the reigns over to you, I would've helped you steer Haddock Steel towards greater profits and ventures...  But you just had to throw it away for that American.”  Pitchiner scoffed derisively.  
  
Hiccup remained still, but his face clearly displayed his surprise at the Englishman's admission and the contempt in the man's voice.  
  
“You do realise that with the money you already have... and what you stood to gain once you'd inherited... you could've easily gone into a marriage of convenience with any society girl you happened to meet in New York, and then paid for all the male whores you could've wanted!  You would've had more than enough to buy their silence.”  
  
“It would've been a lie.”    
  
“Being honest is a liability in business.”  he waved the gun dismissively.  “I can see you've made your position in this very clear.  Thank you.”  
  
“'Thank you'?”  the Scotsman echoed.  
  
“For making me a better businessman, and for making this easier.  With your... 'friend' in the picture, I never stood a chance to guide you.  But if I shoot you-”  he returned the gun to Hiccup.  “-I can make up whatever story I like.”  
  
The Scotsman felt the urge to recoil in horror, but willed himself to stay still.  Behind Pitchiner, a further trolley, one laden with silverware silently slid into the water.  
  
“You tragically perish with the ship, and I can assist your grieving father in his period of mourning.  If I'm lucky, he or the board might even appoint me as acting head of the company due to all my years of loyal service.  None of them need to know that you went to your watery grave with a bullet in your gut, or your head.”  Pitchiner glanced at the weapon for a moment.  “Lovejoy was quite accommodating with lending me his weapon.  I'm not very good with it at long distance, but I don't think I'll miss from here.”  
  
A blur of motion suddenly launched itself from behind the trolley at the man with the weapon, pushing Pitchiner across the space towards one of the alcove walls.  The Englishman's head and upper body slammed through one of glass panels, raining broken shards down with a loud _krash!_  A ninth shot buried itself in the saloon ceiling as Jack pulled Pitchiner away from the wall and onto the top of a small dining table.  
A tenth shot fired wildly as the two men rolled over the table, scattering cutlery and plates before they spilled onto the layer of water beneath them.  
  
“Jack!”  Hiccup cried as the two men struggled, the gun momentarily discarded.  They eventually rose from the water, sodden and with blood streaming down the Englishman's face from a hairline cut.  With a quick motion, Pitchiner threw the American back into the water.  
  
“You little shit.”  he approached, looking down his nose like he was inspecting an inferior creature.  The Englishman swung his left fist out to hit Jack, but the artist ducked.  
  
As if perfectly rehearsed, Hiccup's left fist slammed into their adversary's face, stunning him.  As the Englishman reeled from the injury, the Scotsman grabbed him and pirouetted Pitchiner, slamming him head first into one of the wooden pillars.  
  
“Aggghhh!”  the American took over from his companion, pulling their pursuer away and throwing him against the next pillar along, before slugging him in the gut.  Pitchiner doubled over and slumped to the floor, groaning loudly from the pain.  
  
The murderous man left to tend to his wounds, Jack joined Hiccup's side, staring wondrously at his lover for a moment, before he turned his attention to the doors behind them.  The American stared them down, and threw his weight at the exit, sending fragments of polished wood flying as they broke open.  Their way unrestricted, they ran into the galley, clearing the doorway an instant before another bullet was unleashed, shattering the woodwork of the wall behind them.  
  
Beyond a large, heavy wooden shelving unit filled with crockery were two sets of stairs, one which led upwards and the other leading to the deck below.  Jack made a line for the stairs leading to the deck above, but Hiccup tugged on his arm to lead them the other way, ducking down the lower stairwell in the hope of throwing Pitchiner off their trail.  
  
The sound of hurried footsteps approached, and paused, before going up.  The American exhaled in relief, only to notice that the Scotsman's attention had been drawn by a completely different sound.  
  
The sound of a child crying.  
  


* * *

  
The wails of anguish led the young men down into a hallway on E-Deck.  The passage was a foot deep in water and with more streaming through parts of the ceiling and around the edge of a set of bolted doors.   Stood only a few feet from the bulging doors was a young boy, no more than four years old.  
  
“Daddahhhh!”  He wailed, tears streaming down his face.  
  
“We can't leave him.”  Hiccup's resolve was unflinching.  Jack trained his eyes back at the stairs to the galley, where a steady torrent was building.  
  
“Okay, come on!”  the artist nodded and they ran along the corridor.  The American scooped up the child and threw a worried glance at the doors, they groaned and creaked under the weight.  The three of them doubled-back, retracing their steps to the Galley stairs, where there was now a storm surge rushing down.  
“Go back!”  They retreated towards the only exist, an unlocked sliding gate leading into a side passage.  
  
They awkwardly skidded to a stop when a solidly-built man in a cap appeared, rushing toward them and launching into a torrent of angry Russian-sounding words as soon as he saw Jack carrying the boy.  The man wrestled the child from the artist's arms and pushed him roughly against the wall, before wading back towards the overburdened doorway.  
  
“It's the wrong way!  Come back!”  Jack pleaded as they chased after the child and his father.  
  
“No!  Not that way!”  
  
Their warnings fell on deaf ears as the angry father reached down to scoop up a floating suitcase.  The instant that he stood up, the blockage finally burst, knocking the man and his son to the floor, the tidal wave drowning out their screams.  
  
“Run!”  Jack screamed as he pushed Hiccup towards the open gate, running as fast as they could.  
Flashes of electricity exploded behind them as the wave broke against the wall of the passage and mixed with the lights.  The cascade quickly caught up with them, knocking them off their feet and carrying them at a rapid rate down the passage until they crashed against a locked gate.   
They struggled against the surge to free themselves, pushing against the gate, the floor and even using the wall panelling to reach a set of stairs to D-Deck.  Beside them, chunks of ripped woodwork floated past as they dragged themselves to safety.  Overland was the first to reach the stairwell, and grabbing a handrail, helped pull the Scotsman in after him.  The younger of the two men took the lead, charging up the steps to a further gate, only to find to their dismay that it was also locked.  
  
“Oh God!”  Hiccup gasped as the American shook it fruitlessly.  They whirled back around, the flight of steps was almost completely flooded.  
  
“Help!”  Jack shouted, hoping somebody would hear.  They both glanced down in panic as the cold liquid enveloped their feet.  
  
“Help!”  Hiccup joined in.  As if by some divine miracle, a steward appeared from the passage to their left and made a line for another set of steps in front of them.  Hearing their voices he stopped, and looked back at their desperate faces.  
  
“Wait Sir!  Sir!  Open the gate, please! Please!”  Jack pleaded.  
  
“Help us please!”  Hiccup begged as he stretched a hand through the gate.  The steward pulled himself up one step further.  
  
“Bloody hell!”  he turned back and dropped down into the rising water, fishing a set of keys from his trouser pocket.  
  
“Come on!  Come on!”  Jack encouraged, the water was now up to their knees.  
  
“Come on!”  Hiccup begged as the crewman continued to try the different keys on the ring.  
  
“Go! Go!”  
  
“Jesus!”  the steward mumbled, flicking through the set quickly.  
  
“Hurry!”  the water was now up to Hiccup's waist.  
  
“Come on!”  Jack shouted.  
  
Sparks suddenly shot through the air from the ceiling as the lights in the passage died.  Startled and with his vision impaired, the steward fumbled and the keys slipped from his hand.  
  
“I'm sorry, I dropped the keys!”  
  
“Wait!”  they both yelled as the crewman offered an apologetic look before swimming away.  
  
“Don't leave!”  Hiccup begged.  
  
With no other choice, Jack took a deep breath and dove beneath the water's surface.  The flickering lights and sparks made it difficult to see where the keys had landed, and time was quickly running out.  He stretched a hand through the bottom of the gate and began to feel the floor in front of it, desperately hoping to find what he sought.  
  
Something long and metal brushed past his fingers, and he stretched further forward.  Finding more metal, his hand closed around the object and he pulled the set of keys through the gate.  His adrenaline rushing from the success, he pushed himself back above the liquid.  
  
“I got them!”  Jack held his prize aloft.  The waves were now up to their chests.  “Which one is it, Hiccup?”  
  
“Alright!  The sharp one!  Try the sharp one!”  the Scotsman indicated the specific key on the ring.  “Hurry, Jack!”  
  
Jack lunged forward, feeding his arm through the gate to try locate the lock.  He soon found it but the key hole was proving more elusive, much to his dismay.  
  
“Go in!”  he gritted his teeth as he tried to guide in the key.  
  
“Hurry, Jack.”  Hiccup urged, the water almost up to their necks.  
  
Finally, the key slotted into the lock, but was reluctant to turn.  
  
“It's stuck!”  the American reported despondently.  “It's stuck!”  
  
A large bubble broke the surface as it reached the level of their chins, shaking Hiccup's composure as time ran out.  “Hurry Jack!  Hurry!”  
  
“Go in!”  the artist bellowed at the key.  As if in answer to their desperation, it finally turned with a metallic _clak_.  “I've got it!  I've got it!  Go!  Go!”  he slid the gate open and pushed Hiccup through.  The younger man surged ahead, grabbing the pipes to help carry him towards the stairs.  
  
“Jack?!”  he called back, the American's sudden absence chilling him to the core.  “Jack!”  
  
Waterlogged and resembling a drowned rat, Jack Overland surfaced and perched himself for a moment of rest against the pipes.  Hiccup stretched his arm out to his companion in order to pull him the last few feet to freedom.  “Come on!”  
Jack's hand in his, Hiccup lead the way up the staircase, leaving D-Deck behind them.  
  


* * *

  
The groans of the colossal ship we becoming more pronounced as more of the _Titanic_ slipped into the Atlantic Ocean.  The race to the Boat Deck was becoming more difficult as the incline to the decks became progressively steeper.  It was with a tremendous sigh of relief when Jack and Hiccup emerged on the Second Class Grand Staircase, near the rear of the ship.  Taking the stairway to the top, they raced aft into the First Class Smoking Room, dodging a trolley laden with whisky, cognac and brandy as it sped towards the bow.  
They ascended the slope towards the rotating door leading to the Palm Court and Verandah Café, from there they could get out onto the A-Deck Promenade.  
  
A lone figure was stood at the Smoking Room fireplace, staring up at the portrait hung above it.  It took only a moment for the Scotsman to recognise Thomas Andrews.  
  
“Wait!  Wait!”  the auburn-headed lad shouted, pulling Jack to a stop.  “Mr. Andrews?”   
  
The shipbuilder turned mechanically, a shadow of his former self.  He appeared unsure that what he was seeing was real.  
  
“Oh, Hamish.”  the words were heavy with disappointment, but Hiccup was uncertain if Andrews was disappointed to see the young man was still on board, or from his own feelings that he'd let them all down.  
  
“Won't you even make a try for it?”  the Scotsman pleaded softly.  
  
Andrews' body language seemed to answer the younger man's question.  “I'm sorry that I didn't build you a stronger ship, Hamish.”  
  
“It's going fast.”  Jack interjected, grasping Hiccup's right hand.  “We have to move.”  
  
“Wait.”  Andrews took a step towards them, handing his life jacket to Hiccup.  “Good luck to you both.”  he offered as warm as smile as he could muster.  
  
“And to you.”  Hiccup smiled in return, accepting the life jacket.  After a moment's hesitation, he then gave the shipbuilder a tight hug, before they both pushed through the revolving door.  
Behind them, Thomas Andrews returned to the fireplace and withdrew into his silent reflection.  
  


* * *

  
Terrible cries of panic rose from the forward section of the Boat Deck as _Titanic_ 's Bridge and Officers' Quarters were submerged, almost drowning out the final piece to be performed by the ship's orchestra, _Nearer My God, to Thee_.  
The flooding at the bow caused a human tidal wave to surge aft as the stricken passengers ran for higher ground.  At the bulwark beside one of the cargo cranes on the starboard side, Jack and Hiccup looked towards what little of the bow remained above water.  
  
“We have to stay on the ship as long as possible!  If we jump now they might not come back with the boats before the cold kills us... if the suction doesn't already do that!”  Jack explained and Hiccup nodded.  They pushed away from the side of the ship and ran to the railing at the aft of A-Deck.  
“This way!”  the artist led the Scotsman to the spot overlooking one of the cargo hatches.  With a vault over the rail, Jack held out his hand to help Hiccup down.  “Jump!”  
  
The younger man jumped, landing on the soft surface of the hatch cover.  The American followed him down a moment later, and the two of them clambered down onto B-Deck.  They sprinted across to the next railing where they used one of the cargo cranes to climb down into the Well Deck.  
  
“I've got you, jump!”  with Jack's guidance, Hiccup dropped to the deck, hitting it hard and biting back a yelp from the pain.  A helpful hand reached down and pulled the young man up.  
  
“I've got you, lad.”  a friendly looking man in a baker's overalls helped Hiccup to his feet as Jack jumped down behind them.  
  
“Jack?”  the auburn-headed man turned, looking for his companion.  
  
“Come on!”  the American urged as he appeared from the crowd, gently pushing Hiccup to the stairs leading up to the Poop Deck.  
  
A chorus of screams nearly deafened the two of them as the deck lights briefly faded, followed by what sounded like a muffled explosion from somewhere below.  The crowd regained its momentum once the lights were reignited, and the two young men finally reached the stairs... only to find their progress hampered by a single male passenger.  
  
“'Ye, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death'...” he recited ominously, moving at a snail's pace.  “'I will fear no'...”  
  
“You wanna walk a little faster through that valley, there?”  Jack hissed into the man's ear, the American's anger overflowing.  With a forceful shove he barged the man forward, unblocking the way for Hiccup, himself and the other passengers.  
  
The incline of the ship was becoming hazardous now as they joined the dozens of passengers who were already clustered on the Poop Deck, with hundreds more crowded behind them.  Below, the ship's gigantic propellers rose from the water as the _Titanic_ 's final fate unfolded.  
  
A nearby priest led a sermon as the young lovers paused by the side of the ship, trying to ascertain how much time they had left whilst more and more passengers threw themselves overboard into the cold darkness below.  Time was nearly up.  
  
“This way!”  Jack lead them to the furthest point they could reach, the aft rail beside the stern flagpole... the place where they'd first met.  “Come on!”  the American gently urged as he grasped the rail, Hiccup joining him an instant later.  
  
Glancing over his right shoulder, Hiccup spotted Helga.  Her eyes were wet with tears and filled with fear as she held onto the barrier for dear life.  At the Docking Bridge, the priest gripped onto one of the large capstans as it became more and more difficult for him to stand.   His ad-hock flock struggled to remain calm and listen to the scripture he was quoting.  The Scotsman tightened his hold on the American, and in turn Jack pulled the younger man as close as possible, planting a quick kiss on Hiccup's cheek, desperately hoping it would reassure his lover.  
  
The passengers around them were losing their footing left, right and centre as the deck's slope reached critical.  The ship's lights had been flickering and fading with an increasing regularity, before returning to full brightness in brief respite.  
 _Titanic_ , the largest and grandest ship in the world was going through it's death throes, threatening to take all of them with it.  
  
The sound of items falling and breaking throughout the ship dully reverberated from within, ranging from crockery and small furnishings to some of the larger parts of machinery.  The weight of the raised stern was tearing the liner apart from the inside, and it growled and howled like an injured animal.   
  
With a final flash, the lights of _Titanic_ died.  
  
The night echoed with the cry of stressed metal, drowning out everything else as the ship reached it's fracture point.  
Sounds of snapping and cracking began to issue from somewhere between the third and forth funnels, quickly growing in intensity as the railing began to vibrate.  
  
Below decks, something large exploded and crashed towards the bow as _Titanic_ screamed.  With a screech of tearing iron and steel, the deck dropped from beneath them.  The fall was brief, ending just as quick as the propellers and rudder crashed back into the Atlantic Ocean.  
R.M.S. _Titanic_ had broken in half down to her keel.  
  
Their stays snapped and their casings shattered, the ship's third and forth funnels thundered as they slammed against the shattered deck and the water's surface, before dropping into the yawning black beneath.  
  
The greedy water surged into the broken ship, swamping the destroyed interiors of the Engine Room.  The swell gobbled at the wreckage, and began to pull the rest of her down.  
  
With the influx, the stern began to rise again, pulled upright once more by the weight of the ship's bow.  Jack, Hiccup and anyone who could hold on braced themselves as the stern whined as it swung upwards.  The time to act was now.  
  
“We have to move!”  the American shouted over the chaos as he clambered over the railing with the help of the flag pole.  Safely ensconced on the upward-side, he repositioned himself to face the Scotsman.  “Give me your hand I'll pull you over!”  
  
Hiccup hesitantly reached one arm out to Jack, who took it tightly.  Unseen by the younger man, the ship's deck housings vanished beneath the froth of the angry sea.  
  
“I've got you!”  Jack affirmed as Hiccup pulled himself over the rail.  “I won't let go!”  
The stern was now almost pointing straight out of the water, the propellers nearly facing the stars.  
“Come on, I've got you!”  
  
An unsettling silence descended as the remaining section of the ship settled in its new unnatural position, broken only by the startled cries of the passengers hanging from the various fixtures scattered across the deck.  “Hold on!”  Jack urged as they waited, unsure of what would follow.  
  
Having realised that Helga's grip was slipping, Hiccup shot out an arm to try grab her... but it was too late.  With a panicked cry she slipped from the rail, disappearing amongst the pile of tangled bodies dumped against the forward... now lowest rail of the upended Poop Deck.  Horrified, the Scotsman turned away to look to his right, where he spotted the friendly-looking baker.  The man looked as scared as he did.  
  
The peace was short lived, with a ominous vibration the stern started to sink into the Atlantic.  Below them, explosions of water shattered windows and blasted open doorways as air pockets within the ruined interior escaped, dislodging more passengers as they broke forth.  The last of the superstructure was lost beneath the surface as the waves advanced quickly on the remaining survivors.  
  
“This is it!”  Jack exclaimed, the urgency in his voice calling Hiccup's attention.  
  
“Oh God!”  Hiccup blurted out.  
  
“Hold on!”  the American placed a reassuring hand on the Scotsman's lower back as they watched the vortex approach.  “The ship is going to suck us down... take a deep breath when I say!”  
  
As the froth reached the Docking Bridge, a violent eruption of air and water burst through the cargo hatches beneath them.  
  
“Kick for the surface and keep kicking!  Do not let go of my hand!”  Hiccup nodded, his eyes not leaving the vision of hell before him.  “We're going to make it, Hiccup... Trust me.”  
  
“I trust you!”  he shouted back, tightly squeezing his companion's hand.  
  
“Ready?”  the artist shouted, the water lapping at the deck inches from them.  “Ready!!  Now!”  
  
They both inhaled deeply as the railing and flagpole were consumed, vanishing forever.


	12. A lonely darkness

Chaos swarmed all around Hiccup as the twisted, broken remains of the _Titanic_ dropped away into the darkness below, the ship welcomed and embraced by the vast expanse of the cold and cruel Atlantic.  He could barely see, his vision filled with bubbles and his orientation spun by the maelstrom of suction.  He'd lost grip and sight of Jack.  
With no other option he kicked for the surface.  
  
The cold air hit his face like needles as he scrambled, surrounded by fifteen-hundred other desperate souls treading water amongst a handful of scattered items of debris.  Had he been able to concentrate on the sound of the voices, Hiccup would've been left haunted by their anguished cries, instead he pushed at the water, trying to catch any sight of his companion.  
  
“Jack!  Jack!”  he called out in vain, his voice lost amongst those of the stranded.  “Jaaaack!”  Overland was nowhere to be seen.  Freezing salt water surged into his mouth as he was pushed under, something heavy holding him down beneath the surface.  “No!”  he spluttered as he fought back, only to be pushed under again.  “Jack!”  he wriggled and bucked, trying to dislodge the passenger trying to use him as a raft.  
  
“Hiccup?!”  a familiar voice called out, and the artist swam into view.  “Get off him!  Get off him!”  the weight on the Scotsman's back relented after a Jack delivered a quick series of blows to the man's face.  The passenger shrank back into the water as Jack checked Hiccup over to make sure he was okay.  “Swim Hiccup!  I need you to swim!”  the American grabbed the strap of his companion's life jacket and dragged them through the floating crowd of desperate people, the differences of class removed in their universal pursuit of survival.  “Keep swimming!”  Jack urged.  
  
“It's so cold!”  the younger man gasped as he followed.  
  
“Swim, Hiccup!”  Jack barked.  The struggling passengers were beginning to thin out as the American brought his lover to a large section of ornately carved wood panelling, a fragment from one of the _Titanic_ 's spacious First Class rooms.   “Come on!  Here... keep swimming!”  Jack reached out and grabbed the edge of the panel to steady himself.  “Get on it!”  
  
Hiccup reached out and grasped the edge of the debris with both hands, his chilled skin barely registering the texture of the wood.  He clambered up, reaching for the far edge to pull the rest of his body out of the water.  
  
“Come on, Hiccup!”  
  
The Scotsman grunted as he pulled, the effort was rewarded as he dragged his legs out of the ocean.  Beside him, the American reached out to pull himself up, only for the piece of debris to creak loudly and buck upwards, threatening to throw them both off.  
  
Jack reluctantly released the panel and it settled back into the water.  Safely steadied, Hiccup shifted and repositioned himself so that the American could climb up next to him.  
  
“Try again!”  the Scotsman urged.  Jack shook his head.  
  
“It'll take your weight, but it can't take both of us.”  
  
“You'll freeze!”  Hiccup protested.  
  
“I'll... I'll be fine, I'm a survivor.”  he smiled shakily.  
  
“Then I'll take my chances with you in the water.”  Hiccup began to move back towards the edge.  
  
“Don't you dare!”  Jack's voice was forceful, freezing the auburn-headed lad to the spot.  “I'll be fine, I can wait a little while in the water.”  
Despite his assurances, he could see from Hiccup's expression that the Scotsman was riddled with guilt.  
  
A short distance away a whistle began to shrill in the darkness, followed by a strained voice of an officer.  
  
“Return the boats!”  he pleaded, before blasting his whistle again.  
  
“The boats are coming back for us, Hiccup.”  the artist stated, his breath turning into ghost-white wisps of vapour.  “Hold on just a little bit longer.”  he was shivering now.  “They rowed away from the suction, but... now they'll be coming back.”  
  
“For God's sake!”  
  
“Please!  Help us!”  
  
“Come back!”  
  
The voices cried out in hope to the twenty lifeboats that surrounded the site of the sinking, desperately awaiting their return.  One by one, the floating survivors grew more quiet as they waited, their rescue painfully near, yet too far away.  
  


* * *

  
The shouts and cries had become whimpers and disillusioned sobbing.  Even the officer with the whistle had grown silent.  
  
“It's getting quiet.”  Hiccup murmured as Jack kept his vigilant watch.  
  
“It's just gonna take a...  a couple of minutes to get...  the boats organised.”  he stammered.  Ice had formed in both their hair, and on patches of Hiccup's overcoat.  “I don't know about you, but...  I intend to... wru- write a strongly worded letter to the White Star Line about all this.”  he smirked, issuing an exhausted chuckle.  
  
The Scotsman gripped the American's hand, trying to fight off the shivers that rocked his body.  He was colder than he could ever remember being.  
  
“I... I love you, Jack.”  he whispered.  
  
Jack frowned and looked him dead in the eye.  “Don't you do that... Don't you say your goodbyes.”  he shook his head.  “Not yet, do you understand me?”  
  
“I'm so cold...”  
  
“Listen, Hamish...”  he paused.  “You're gonna get out of here.  You're going to go on... and hugh- you're gonna have lots of children, you're gonna watch them grow, you're gonna die an old, old man... safe and warm in his bed.  Not here.  Not this night.  Not like this... you understand me?”  
  
“Lots of... huh- lots of children?”  Hiccup smiled unevenly as he shivered.  “I uh... I thought we established tha... that...”  
  
“You'll find a way.”  Jack smiled as he fondly rubbed Hiccup's cold hand.  “You'll find a way.”  
  
The American pulled himself closer.  “Winning that ticket, Hic, was the best thing that happened to me.  It brought me to you.”  his face broke out into the widest smile he could muster.  “And I'm thankful for that.  I'm thankful...”  he pulled his right hand up and placed it atop his left, which still held the hand of the man he loved.  “You must... You must... You must do me this honour.  You must promise me, that you'll survive.  That... you won't give up... no matter what happens... no matter how... hopeless...  Promise me, now, Hiccup.”  the auburn-headed lad's heart ached at the sight of Jack.  The American's outgoing confidence was stripped back, revealing a scared young man fighting with the uncertainty of his future.  “And never let go of that promise.”  
  
“I promise.”  Hiccup nodded.  
  
“Never let go...”  
  
“I won't let go.  I'll never let go.”  Jack kissed  Hiccup's hand as he shook, the cold water taking its toll.  
  


* * *

  
An ocean of silent stars looked down as they drifted.  There were no cries now, no calls for help.  The only voice in Hiccup's ears was his own, whispering a joyful melody he'd once sung in what now felt like a lifetime ago.  
  
“...♪Come Josephine in my flying... machine... and it's up she goes... up she goes.  Come Josephine in... my flying♫...”  
  
Something stirred his dulled senses and he turned his head, unsure if what had happened was real or just his imagination.  In the distance to his right a ghostly light drifted across the water.  
  
“Can anyone hear me?”  the voice was faint and distorted, but it was real.  The voice and light belonged to a man in a lifeboat which was drifting slowly across the sea of bodies.  
  
Hiccup squeezed Jack's hand.  “Jack?”  the American didn't answer, causing the Scotsman to rub his other hand against Jack's freezing wrist.  There was still no response from the man in the water, prompting Hiccup to turn over and face him.  “Jack?  Jack!”  his speech was barely louder than a whisper, constrained by the cold muscles in his throat and voice box.  His worry growing, he glanced over to the lifeboat, it was slipping away into the distance.  
“Jack!”  he was shaking the artist's arm now, trying desperately to wake him.  “There's a boat!  Jack!”  a tear began to roll down the young man's cheek as the terrible realisation sank in.  “Jack... there's a boat, Jack...”  
  
His voice whimpered as he caressed Jack Overland's lifeless hand, a wave of emotions overwhelming him.  The boat momentarily forgotten, he rested his head against Jack's frozen hand.  
  
Jack's voice echoed in Hiccup's thoughts, reminding him of the promise he'd made.  The Scotsman's eyes flashed open and focussed on the departing boat.  
  
“Come back... Come back!”  he groggily raised his head.  “Come back!  Come back!”  it was no use, his voice was too quiet for the men in the lifeboat to hear.  
  
“Hello!  Can anyone hear me?”  the voice called out loud and strong, a beacon of salvation.  
  
The metal handcuff on the American's wrist _thunked_ loudly against the panel as the Scotsman pulled his right hand free from the vice-like grip of his lover's.  Unsettled by the motion, Jack slid further into the water.    
  
“I'll never let go, I promise.”  Hiccup placed a sad kiss on Jack's right hand, before reluctantly letting it go.  
  
His face serene, Jack Overland slipped beneath the surface of the Atlantic Ocean, dissolving into the black void which stretched on forever.  
  
Hiccup fought back his raging emotions as he slid off of the panel, his body barely registering the wetness of the water or the cold of it as he abandoned his raft made of debris.  He tried to swim, but his limbs were sluggish and stiff, moving awkwardly in their numbed state.  He struggled to maintain a strained paddle as he approached the lifeless body of Chief Officer Wilde, still clung to the deck chair.  
Hiccup's goal in sight, he gasped as the distance narrowed and reached out eagerly for the silver whistle in the dead man's mouth.  
  
Perched on the deck chair, he pulled at the whistle and placed it to his lips.  His first exhale delivered a quiet spluttered _tweet_.  He carefully inhaled before he blew again, which echoed around him with a loud _THWEEEEEEEEEEEEET_.  
  
“Come about!”  the voice from the boat shouted.  Hiccup continued to blow into the whistle as the light and boat grew in size.  His rescue had arrived.  
  


* * *

  
Hiccup took a pause in his account to steady the surge of feelings that had resurfaced.  Across from him, tears dampened Lizzy's eyes as she sat, riveted to the spot.  
  
“Fifteen-hundred people went into the sea when _Titanic_ sank from under us.  There were twenty boats floating nearby, and only one came back... one.  Six were saved from the water... myself included.  Six, out of _fifteen-hundred_.  Afterward... the seven-hundred people in the boats had nothing to do by wait.  Wait to die... Wait to live... Wait for an absolution, that would never come.”  
  
The memories of his rescue had always been the hardest for Hiccup to recall, even after he'd boarded the R.M.S. _Carpathia_.  Exhausted, traumatised and numbed by the sinking... and by Jack's death, he couldn't recall much of anything that'd happened to him during the first few hours aboard the rescue ship.  
  
The first memory that he could recall clearly was of him sat at _Carpathia_ 's bow, amongst the other survivors...  
  


* * *

  
**April 15th, 1912**

  
Hiccup kept the blanket close, enjoying the limited warmth it provided... a considerable improvement over what he'd experienced a handful of hours earlier.  He sat there in silence as other people milled around him, sadly acknowledging the one fact he wished he could forget.  
  
Members of the ship's crew and medical personnel tended to the stricken passengers, doing their best to assist the many who were still deeply lost in their various degrees of shock.  Beside the superstructure, a pile of discarded life jackets had grown, a constant reminder of their ordeal and loss.  
  
“Oh Sir, I don't think you'll find any of your people down here... it's all steerage.”  the voice of an officer caught Hiccup's attention, and he turned to where it came from.  Descending a short set of stairs and glancing around was the unmistakeable sight of Stoick.  The elder Haddock's face was pale, with bags under his eyes.  His normally tidy hair was dishevelled, his tie and collar were missing, and there was a large tear in the left sleeve of his dinner jacket.  The normally proud-looking man appeared deflated and defeated.  
  
His father looked lost and broken, and the younger Scotsman wondered if that's how the elder Haddock had looked when Valerie, Hiccup's mother, had passed away.  The young man opened his mouth to speak, but no words passed his lips.  
  
Stoick patrolled the deck, searching everyone to see if they were his son.  As the large man approached, the younger Scotsman turned away, his mind conflicted over whether to reveal he was there.  
  
“Hamish?”  his father's voice was strained, and he looked up.  “Hamish!”  A note of colour returned to Stoick's face as he gave his son a bear hug, relieved that he was alive.  “I thought I'd lost you.”  
  
“Can we go somewhere less public?”  Hiccup quietly asked.  
  
“Of course.”  Stoick nodded as he led his son away.  
  


* * *

  
Stoick had been one of the lucky passengers to have been granted a cabin, and having unlocked the door of his new quarters he beckoned for Hiccup to enter.  The room was a lot more modest in terms of opulence than their rooms on _Titanic_ had been, but it was warm, safe and had a bed.  
  
“They were able to let me have one of their unoccupied staterooms.”  He explained as he helped ease his son into a chair.  “Now that I know you're safe, I can have a word with them so you have somewhere to stay.”  
  
“I don't need one father, there are other people out there who need it more than me.”  
  
“Nonsense.”  the elder Scotsman rebuked.  “I won't hear any more of it.”  a wave of tiredness washed over Hiccup, causing him to flag where he sat.  The motion caused the younger man's blanket to shift, revealing his left hand which was wrapped in bandages.  
  
“What happened to your hand?”  Stoick asked, his voice heavy with concern.  
  
The younger Scotsman raised the appendage and looked at it, almost having forgotten about the injury.  “Oh.”  he noted distractedly.  “It's a little swollen and bruised, but it isn't anything serious.”  
  
His father looked concerned.  “How did it happen?  Were you injured getting into one of the boats?”  
  
Hiccup shook his head.  “I never made it to one of the boats, we-”  he paused at his involuntary slip.  “We were on the ship until the end.”  
  
“'We'?”  Stoick echoed.  “You and Pitchiner?”  
  
The younger haddock shook his head again, this time remaining silent.  
  
“Overland.”  realisation dawned on Stoick's face.  “Is he on board?  I didn't see him up on deck with you.”  
  
Hiccup quickly blinked his eyes, doing his best to subdue the tears he didn't want his father to see.  
  
“He didn't last the night.”  
  
The elder Haddock glanced downward briefly.  “I'm... I'm sorry to hear, Hamish.”  
  
Hiccup bristled as he stood from his chair, anger flashing in his eyes.  Despite the torrent of feelings that reeled inside of him he forced himself to speak calmly.  
  
“There are a few things you should know about Jack.”  the younger man began.  “After the ship went down, he made sure that I was okay.  He managed to find some debris that we could stay afloat on... but it couldn't take the weight of both of us.  He insisted that he remain in the water so that I could survive, and he perished from the cold.”  Hiccup paused.  “He saved my life... that was the kind of man Jack Overland was... that was what the man I-” his voice caught for a moment.  “...The man I loved.”  
The younger man regained some of his composure.  “That was the kind of man you conspired with Pitchiner to falsely accuse.”  
  
Stoick was unable to look his son in the eye any more, the feelings of guilt taking their toll on him.  
  
“I'd had plenty of time whilst sat in the boat to think about what I'd done.”  he spoke in a quiet voice that was so unlike him.  “I know that it won't fix what happened... or what I did... but I'm sorry, son.”  
  
“I believe you.”  Hiccup nodded.  He then let out a frustrated sigh and perched himself against the cabin table.  “I just don't know if I can forgive you.”  
  
“I... I understand.”  Stoick replied glumly.  “What do you want to do, Hamish?”  
  
The question caught the younger Scotsman off guard.  His father had always been certain about what was best for Hiccup, and now that the elder Haddock had finally asked him what his son wanted, he was at a momentary loss for what to do.  
  
“I'll continue the journey to New York.”  Hiccup mused after some consideration.  The statement made his father look at him with a degree of hope.  “But from there, I think we'll be taking separate paths.  I want to forge my own course, like you did when you were younger.”  
  
Stoick nodded in understanding.  
  
“You can tell the board whatever you feel would be appropriate under the circumstances.”  The younger Haddock continued.  “As for somebody to take over the company from you, I'd go with Hofferson.”  
  
“You did get on well with his daughter when you were younger.”  the elder Haddock recalled.  He then looked up at his son.  “This is what you want?”  
  
“Yes.”  Hiccup nodded calmly.  “This is what I want.”  
  


* * *

  
Hiccup hadn't realised he'd held his breath until he'd walked out on deck, and taken in a lungful of North Atlantic air.  By the end of their conversation he had felt sorry for his father, but the young Scotsman knew that he couldn't follow the path his father had planned any more, not after all that he'd been through and experienced with Jack in their short time together.  
  
The younger Haddock had resolved to stay with the other Third Class passengers until they arrived in New York.  As he looked out to the horizon he slid his hands into the pockets of Pitchiner's overcoat, taking care with his injured left hand.

> **_That was the last time I ever saw him.  I learned soon after we arrived in New York that he'd booked passage back to England where he eventually returned to work at the company.  Despite his best efforts, the public's confidence had been shattered... nobody wanted to buy the steel which had helped carry the_ Titanic _to the ocean floor.  The last I'd heard, he'd retired for health reasons to a quieter, simpler life...  As for Pitchiner... his body was never recovered._**


	13. New York - Epilogue

**April 18th, 1912**

Cold, fresh night air greeted the _Carpathia_ in New York harbour as rain descended from the clouds above.  In the distance, Manhattan Island glittered, a beckoning beacon to the tired, huddled masses of the _Titanic_ 's passengers and crew.  Hiccup stood near one of the port bulwarks, ignoring the precipitation as he and his fellow passengers looked upward at the towering figure of _Liberty Enlightening the World_.  The torch the statue held aloft burned warmly, welcoming them to the New World.  
  
A young officer appeared at Hiccup's side, carrying a clipboard and umbrella.  
  
“Can I take your name please?”  
  
The young Scotsman glanced to the officer and remained silent for a moment.  
  
“Overland...”  Hiccup responded, turning back toward the statue.  “Hamish Overland.”  
  
“Thank you.”  The officer noted the name down with a nod, before moving on to the next nearest passenger on the deck.  
  


* * *

  
“Even as we disembarked in New York, the temptation to return to England would come to me, every now and then... but in the end I felt that if I was to going to reach my potential, it would be better for me to stay here.”  Hiccup explained as he began to wrap up his account.  The windows of the apartment were now dark, night had descended.  
  
Lizzy let the account settle in before she finally spoke.  “Did you ever meet anyone after... after Jack?”  
  
“There were a few... but I don't think I was able to love them quite as much as I had loved him.”  the tears were welling up again, and Hiccup's lower lip was trembling.  “I don't even have a photograph of him... I can only see him in my memory.”  
  
Lizzy leant forward, giving her grandfather a warm, comforting hug as they both wept.  
  
  
****

**Epilogue**

Lizzy had helped her grandfather to bed soon after he'd finished telling his story.  With him in bed she'd set to work tidying up and was now stood in the short hall to the front door, her hand poised on the light switch.  With a deft movement, the living room and kitchen were darkened, with the only light creeping through the gaps in the curtains.  As she gathered up her bag and coat to leave, she stood at the doorway to Hiccup's room, checking in on him before she left for home.  Sat in a basket by her grandfather's bed, the German Shepherd perked up and looked at her with soulful green eyes.  
  
“Go back to sleep, Toothless.”  she whispered.  The dog tilted his head for a moment, before resting it back on his paws.  She quietly crept into the room and placed a kiss on her grandfather's head, before stepping back and smiling fondly.  “Good night, Papa.”  
  
Without a sound she exited the room, closing the door behind her.  
  
Hiccup lay still and silently in his bed, his mind withdrawing from his apartment... and from New York.  
  
He was somewhere unfamiliar, but peaceful... and he felt the sensation of flying.  
Out of the darkness emerged a shape, a knife's edge... which flowed and expanded, growing into a much larger object.  
It was covered in rusticles, devoid of paintwork and decking, and had most of its railings stripped away.  What superstructure remained was mangled and collapsed in places, and the funnels were long gone.  The bridge had been completely lost, and the foremast had smashed against the crumpled bulwark.  
Despite the considerable damage and the subsequent years of decay, the deteriorated hull of the R.M.S. _Titanic_ was still recognisable, there were still traces of beauty in the grand ghost ship.  
  
He was still flying, drawn towards the wreck.  Hiccup homed in on the A-Deck enclosed Promenade, passing empty doorways and shattered windows.  Above him, the ceiling was festooned with encrusted pipes, dangling cables and more stalactite-like rusticles.  
  
As Hiccup drifted along the deck, he bore witness to a metamorphosis that began to occur.  A brilliant warm light began to glow from the darkened windows and doorways, flooding out onto the promenade.  The light appeared to transform the ship, restoring it to it's former grandeur.  
  
The promenade was as he remembered it from 1912, and he turned as he felt the strong urge to enter the Grand Staircase.  
  
The door was opened for him as he entered, a smiling steward on either side.  Within the landing was a crowd of faces, many of them familiar.  
  
To his left were the members of the ship's orchestra, who held their instruments proudly as they bid him welcome.  Beyond them was Tommy, his face beaming in warm welcome.  Behind the Irishman, Benjamin Guggenheim nodded politely, whilst Father Thomas Byles behind him offered a kind smile.  
  
To Hiccup's right, John Jacob Astor happily bowed in recognition, whilst Cora waved as she was held by her smiling father.  Beyond them were Fabrizio and Helga, her hands wrapped around his arm as the couple beamed at the new arrival.  
  
As Hiccup approached the staircase, two more faces came into view; First Officer Murdoch and Thomas Andrews.  The shipbuilder gave Hiccup a warm smile and a nod as the younger man passed.  
  
Above him, the upper landing of the staircase was just as crowded, filled with friendly and welcoming faces.  Stood on the mezzanine by the clock with his back to Hiccup was an unmistakeable figure, and in response he felt his cheeks flush and his mouth smile.  
  
Jack Overland looked over his shoulder, casually turning as Hiccup reached his level.  The American held his left hand out, which the young Scotsman took.  They both stood there, taking in the moment, reunited after so many long years apart.  
Above and below, the crowd watched as the two young men hovered, before they finally shared a passionate kiss.  
  
The sound of applause reverberated all around them from the crowd.  Despite the barriers of class, despite the trials of adversity... despite the separation of the years and of life and death, Jack Overland and Hamish “Hiccup” Haddock were back together, and they would never let each other go.

 

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the last we've seen of Hamish Overland, be sure to keep an eye out for "A Scotsman in New York", an original story following Hamish's life after he survived the sinking of the Titanic.


End file.
